


Chrysalis

by magnumopustron



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Captivity, Darkfic is dark, Forced Feminization, Forced Pregnancy, Gender Dysphoria, Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Alteration, Mind Control, Multi, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Underage - Freeform, electric shock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 94,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnumopustron/pseuds/magnumopustron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newest and youngest Avenger, Peter is taken while out on patrol by his worst enemy. As usual, Norman Osborn's plans turn out to be the stuff of nightmares except this time he wants the perfect mate and it looks like he's decided Peter fits the description. It's up to the Avengers and Deadpool to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from the Spider-Man Kink Meme on LJ: "If Norman Osborn can't have a perfect heir, then he'll just have to breed one."  
> The prompt also called for a female! Peter who was not born female but made that way, as well as an underage Peter. 
> 
> This fanfic's universe is a blend of the movies as well as comics.  
> Peter is seventeen in this fic and has just joined the Avengers. I pretended that he's taking college level classes because he's a smarty pants. Expect eventual Spideypool because reasons.

Peter glanced over at the clock on Gwen's night table and sighed. He didn't really want to get up and leave – they'd had such a nice Sunday afternoon together.

Eventually, he dragged himself out from under the covers and pulled his clothes on, sitting at the computer in her room for a while as he looked up some things for a class.

She pulled on some sweatpants, a tank top, and a hoodie and they ended up in the kitchen, talking about people in class and laughing. They shared some OJ from a carton and Peter teased her about her crush on a teacher.

“No I do not! Shut up, Peter!” She tried to shove at his head, but he laughed and blocked her arms. He ended up grabbing her up in his arms and kissing her face and she squealed, bonking him on the head with the OJ carton. They finally exchanged slow kisses as she walked him to the door and ruffled his hair playfully before they smiled at eachother and said goodbye.

The last time he saw her was there in the doorway, with the winter sunlight gracing her face sweetly, shining into her eyes.

* * *

It was cold outside, so he walked quickly to the bus stop. He wasn't actually going to take the bus of course.

'Why bus when you can fly?' he thought happily. And _did_ he feel like flying. He crowed at the sky, a grin spreading over his face.

Gwen Stacy. He was with the hottest girl on campus. Him! Peter fucking Parker. He had to laugh.

Peter whistled as he approached the bus stop. He'd take off his clothes and stick them in the backpack he carried. He already had his Spidey suit on underneath. Telling Gwen about his secret hero life had certainly made life easier in some ways. Well, in that way at least.

In everything else...

He shook his head and sighed, real life starting to settle back in on him. It wasn't easy being one of the youngest people on campus at seventeen. But Peter had been bored in high school and ready to move on. Mary Jane missed seeing him... but it wasn't like they were dating anymore. He ducked into some bushes behind the bus stop and sniffed at the cold air as he slipped out of his normal clothes, tossing them into the backpack he had with him. Settling that on his back and pulling his mask on, he webbed up at a light pole nearby. He continued to whistle while he tugged himself up onto the light pole.

“And now...” he made a drum roll sound with his tongue. “The Amazing Flying Spidermaaan!”

He leaped off the light pole, shooting out a strand of web at a building. The web caught and tugged tight as he arched low and then up... letting go just before he hit the peak of the arc.

Shoop! And another strand of web!

He hummed to himself as he flew through the city. Life was... well as perfect as it could get. Maybe that was why he had the uncomfortable sense of foreboding in his stomach? Maybe it was the spidey senses?

He landed on the roof of a building and paused in a crouch, frowning. No, spidey senses were in his head. This was just some low, heavy feeling in his chest, like his heart was weighing down into his stomach. “What the hell?” he mumbled to himself. “Heartburn?”

He shrugged and crawled over to the edge of the building. Flying like a trapeze artist honestly didn't feel that natural. Hanging from the strings of web did, but what felt most natural was crawling up walls, which was honestly a little embarrassing when he thought about it. That, of course, was on the list of Things About Being Spiderman that He Would Never Tell Gwen. Or anybody.

His eyes widened when he caught sight of what looked to be someone in a green cape, down on the ground.

“What the...” he narrowed his eyes as if it would somehow give him better sight, then huffed impatiently at himself. The green caped person disappeared into an alley. His spidey senses were just a tingle in the back of his head, but he followed their pull. The weird weight of foreboding in his chest, however, seemed to become heavier as he crawled downward, then launched himself into the air, sticking an arm out to web himself across the street. He was so far above the traffic of New York that no one looking up into the darkness would have spotted him.

But as he fell and arced toward the ground, he took care to try and avoid the lights. Landing nimbly on a window sill, he turned and began to crawl over the wall again. The green caped person had intrigued him because it was nowhere near St Patrick's Day, first of all, or Mardi Gras, so why anybody would be wearing a green cape and hood was beyond him.

“Little Green Riding hood?” He guessed aloud. “HYDRA type? She-Hulk fan?”

With a shrug, he slid down the wall and landed in the alley, crouching. He listened for a few moments. Strange, he could just barely hear something further down. It sounded like snickering.

Just to make sure the green hooded person wasn't up to no good or in trouble themselves, he hurried along the alley way.

There they were again! He stepped closer, watching, as they stood under a lamp post. There was something familiar about the green cape that was triggering something in him.

No. It couldn't be. He stared as the person turned around, his eyes widening.

It was a man, wearing the mask and cape of the Green Goblin, but there were eyeholes and he could see the eyes behind the mask. _Harry_.

He stared, stunned, for a few moments that later he would berate himself for not having realized as critical.

Harry laughed hollowly at him. A hissing to his right alerted him and he leapt, instinctually, toward the wall to his left.

“No!” He landed hard before he could reach it though, because someone else reacted faster. A voice – a harsh, familiar voice - had snarled out and now something was hooked painfully around his ankle – an incredibly strong grip. A grip he would recognize anywhere.

“Shit,” Peter blathered under his mask. “No, no, no-”

“Hello, Peter!”

He was yanked brutely across the concrete. Turning his head, he saw his assailant, wearing his full uniform. Peter raised his leg, poising to send a powerful kick into his attacker's mask, when a cloud of smoke rolled over him. The hissing reached his ears again a moment later. He waved his hands, coughing, but the world seemed to tilt around him and crash.

He was dead, Peter kept thinking. It couldn't be him, because he was dead. He thought of Harry and how glad he probably was that his father wasn't really gone. How horrified he, Peter was, but how that was selfish because he should be glad for Harry. It didn't make any sense, and yet it did, as Peter tried to drag himself up out of the tar his brain seemed to be caught in.

“Har...” he whispered. “Can't be.”

“Shh. Hush, sweetheart,” a rough voice whispered and laughter followed it. Harsh, ugly laughter. The voice softened to a cheery hum and he felt very comfortable, so he allowed the weight around him to bear him down again where it was dark and quiet.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, his face felt cold. A shiver went up his spine as he realized his fingers and toes were cold as well. He licked his lips, noting his mouth felt like cotton.

The cheery humming was still there. What they were humming, he couldn't tell. It was just some kind of tuneless, mindless meandering, the sort someone made when they were just happy and not really focused. “Some kind of...” He muttered, his eyes still closed. “Chloroform? No.”

Suddenly, the humming stopped, and he was wide awake. Peter jerked his head up, eyes opening. His arms and legs jerked and he realized with a rush of panic and the tripping of spider senses blaring like alarm bells in his head that he couldn't move.

“Shh,” the voice was there again and he blinked up at Norman Osborn, the bright light of the room painful against his eyes. “Now Peter, relax...”

“What the fuck,” he sputtered, gasping, his limbs jerking and his body arching away from the bed? Table? In panic. “Fuck!” His voice cracked because his mouth was so dry.

“Peter,” Norman's voice held a warning tone, his face bore a teasing smile. “Now Peter... relax, honey.”

It was the term 'honey' even more so than the restraints that scared the shit out of him. The smugness and the.. the knowledge that nothing could get to them here, wherever they were? Yeah, that was a bad sign too.

“Please!” he couldn't stop himself and he was ashamed, but the panic had full hold of him and the fucking spider senses were triggering it even more. “Please!”

His voice was small, dry and pathetic. He didn't even know what the fuck he was begging for. Norman gave him a stunned look for a moment. Then he started to chuckle.

“Peter!” he shouted in reprimand, causing the younger man to jerk back against the table and flinch. He closed his eyes tightly, groaning suddenly. The light felt like someone striking the back of his eyes with a hammer. “What's wrong with you? Acting like this. You're a big boy... Soon to be a big girl.” He chuckled again.

Peter heard his words, but they didn't register. He brushed them off as mockery while he shivered. The panic was subsiding but in it's place was a shattering anxiety.

“Please,” he begged, then grit his teeth as he pulled at his binds. “You... asshole!” he cursed.

Norman laughed again, looking delighted. “Oh Peter... You really are something.”

He felt a strong, calloused hand gently cup his cheek and ear and jerked his head away with a cry.

“Don't touch me!”

“Aw, Peter...” Norman's voice softened to an extent that embarrassed the young man. As if he was genuinely sorry for him.

Rage coiled in Peter's chest and he screamed, thrashing against his binds again. He felt ridiculous, but he couldn't stop himself. It was like being drunk and knowing he was making an ass out of himself, but not being able to stop.

“Now, I know you're not feeling well at the moment, but it should wear off soon.”

“What the fuck is this?” Peter cried, and just like that tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to fight them, but he whined and writhed under his binds, a sob emerging.

He was crying. In front of fucking Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin. Great.

Norman didn't laugh however. There was a small smile on his lips, but he looked mostly annoyed.

“Shh,” he stroked Peter's hair and the motion was oddly comforting. Disturbing. But comforting. It made Peter shiver again and he whined, not wanting to look directly at Norman. He forced himself to, however. What he saw in the man's eyes made him want to wet himself.

“Peter,” Norman stroked his hair and he shuddered, looking away again. His _eyes_. They weren't filled with hate or derision. They weren't affectionate either, but... they were sickeningly close to concerned.

“Fuck... fuck you!” Peter shouted. “What are you doing to me!”

“Peter shut up!” Norman shouted, causing him to cringe and he let out another sob. “Listen to me, Peter. Everything's fine. Your aunt is safe.”

“My aunt?”

“Your Aunt May. She's safe. I'm not going to harm her, Peter.”

Peter shivered and jerked against his binds again. “Aunt May?” His eyes seemed to search the room as if he expected to find her. Norman sighed softly and cupped his chin, guiding it so that Peter's bewildered gaze met his.

“I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart. Shhh,” he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the younger man's forehead.

“Oh god,” Peter said, his eyes widening, and he looked around the room again as if expecting the Juggernaut to come through the fucking wall. “Oh god!”

“Peter, listen to me,” Norman moved toward the screen, pulling up the monitor of the boy's heart rate. Peter sobbed softly. “It's all right,” he murmured, more to himself than the boy really. “Everything's going to be just fine.”

Norman's hands were shaking as he moved them over the screen. He smiled as he saw that his shipment had arrived. For a moment, he was lost in the giddy realization that everything was working out. Then Peter's whimpering brought him back to reality. He rolled his eyes and looked back at the boy.

“Peter... Peter.” He called, his voice aggravated. The boy had pissed himself. Wonderful.

He was lifting his head and comically looking down at his own groin in confusion. Norman smiled and walked over to gently brush hair from his forehead and push his head back down.

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing another kiss there. “It's all right. You're going to do just fine.”

The younger man whined softly and licked his lips. Norman smiled and brought him some water in a little pouch with a straw. He brushed his thumb over the pretty lips before pressing the straw between them. “Good boy,” he told Peter as the idiot boy began to drink. “See? Aw...” he groaned as Peter began to cough up water, spitting some of it up in Norman's face. “Sonofabitch,” he growled, tossing the water away and grabbing Peter by the throat.

The boy groaned.

“Stop...” he ordered, his eyes closing tightly.

The light was bothering him. Norman reached up and shoved the operating table's lamp away. Peter blinked a few times and his dark, beautiful eyes opened.

“Shh,” Norman stroked those bangs back again. He could see that the eyes were still dilated, and Peter shivered as Norman gently brushed his fingers over the boy's cheek. He'd always thought Peter was cute in that nerdy, shy kind of way. When Harry first started bringing him around, he grew a fondness for the boy, wishing Harry would be a little more compliant the way Peter seemed. He would never have imagined then, of course, what the boy was up to in the twilight hours.

That delicate little Peter Parker was a vigilante. He chuckled now as he remembered his surprise on learning Peter's true identity.

“Silly boy,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to Peter's temple. “I love you.” He stood, smiling, and brushed his thumb over Peter's forehead once more, watching as the dark eyes looked warily up at him, before heading back to the monitor.

He had more things to prepare.


	2. Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns of Norman's heinous plans.

Peter slept for what felt like several hours, but could have been more. The passage of time would become an issue when he was awake.

When he awoke, he found himself on a bed with a thick navy comforter over him. Looking up, he had the impression of being in an atrium. Wherever he was, someone had put a lot of effort into making it pretty. Sitting up slowly, Peter groaned as the nausea rolled through him again.

Looking down, he saw that he was still in a hospital gown. His underwear, however, was dry. He blushed at that, moving a hand to his thigh self consciously. The memory of urinating on himself at some point hovered at the edge of his mind.

There was something clunky on his left ankle – when he pulled the blanket back further, he could see a device that reminded him of what people under house arrest had to wear. He frowned at the two little red lights glowing on it and decided not to mess with it. He looked around at the atrium again.

To his immediate left was a door leading somewhere. Beside the door was a large, glass walled shower. Ahead of the bed was a fountain – round and made of stone, a little pool.

“Well this is very feng shue,” he muttered. His eyes still felt incredibly gummy as he blinked, and he had a gross taste in his mouth. “Ugh,” he shuddered again, swallowing.

The sound of trickling water reminded him how thirsty he was. Standing up and wobbling for a moment, he nearly fell back onto the bed.

There was a very modern couch attached to the wall running along the left side of the room. Next to the couch was a tree rising up from the floor, a low stone wall around the base of it. The low weight of foreboding in his stomach from earlier had become a black hole that seemed to suck everything into it.

“What the hell is going on?” he whispered. He began to walk, slowly looking around.

First he headed to the fountain. He put out a hand, into the water. Feeling it run over his fingers, it gave him a strange calming sense. But it was all wrong. He tried to focus on remembering. Norman Osborn kidnapping him as the Green Goblin and…

Shushing him. _Kissing him. Petting him_.

“Ugh god,” he said, putting his hands in his hair. Norman Osborn’s smile and his voice all tender and sickening.

He looked up suddenly, across the fountain, at the tingle of his senses. About thirty feet away, opposite the wall against which the bed and the shower was, there was a glass wall with inset glass double doors. On the other side of it, stood Norman Osborn.

The man’s lips curved into a smile. Peter stood, silently watching him. Then he slowly approached the door.

“Hello Peter,” the formerly dead scientist called to him.

Peter wondered if maybe he was just losing his mind. If this was all some elaborate delusion, part of some hysterical breakdown.

'Oh god,' he thought as he put his hands against the glass. There was a little circle of holes in the door he had his hands on. Each door had a little circle made up of holes. Holes so that he could hear Norman through the glass.

“Now, what did I tell you earlier about calming down, hm? You need to be careful in your state. You just had a traumatic experience-”

“Fuck. You,” Peter said. His face curled into a snarl and he turned, looking for something to throw, but not finding anything. He stormed back toward the tree.

“Where are you going? Peter!”

Peter snatched off smaller branches from the tree. He winced as he scratched his palm against one, but the pain just seemed to ignite something in him. He let out a shout and grabbed one of the larger branches, breaking it off with a strain of effort. He turned to watch as Osborn began to unlock the doors.

“Peter, stop!”

“Come here!” he turned, brandishing it. “So I can beat your head in.”

Norman had stepped through the doors and stopped to stare at him. A moment later, he laughed.

“Oh come on, Peter. Put the branch down.”

“I don’t think so. But if you take another step-”

Norman began to walk closer, huffing at him. “You need to rest, Peter. You’re still weak from the poison-”

“Poison! Oh wow, I’m scared shitless.”

“You did piss on yourself earlier,” Norman chuckled. Peter snarled and threw the branch at him, but he hopped back and it landed on the floor with a clunk. The scientist glared up at him, eyes gleaming.

“You’re ruining my atrium.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, Mr Green Goblin. Gee golly! I didn’t mean to ruin your shrubbery!”

Norman had always loved Peter’s expressions and regretted them being hidden under a mask when they fought. He chuckled at the way his brow scrunched up and his lip curled in disgust. The best part were how his eyes lit up.

“You be a sweetheart and sit down, Peter.”

The younger man was unnerved by the calm emanating from him. Plus the fact that the asshole kept chuckling. He took inventory of himself, his body, his energy. He still felt incredibly weak. His legs were trembling at holding him up. Osborn wasn’t lying – there had been some kind of poison involved. He shuddered, imagining the man testing different chemicals, planning this all out. The worst part was that he’d pulled it off, quite successfully.

“What do you want?” he finally gave up on a snarky reply. His voice was dry and rough.

Norman smiled slightly. “Sit down, Peter. Would you like some water?”

“I’m not sitting down.”

“Well fine then, stand up there like an idiot. Wear yourself out quicker.”

“Why am I here?”

“You know, you can drink that water from the fountain-”

“Why _am I here?_ ”

The older man glared at his captive. He’d known the boy would be difficult. But he was clearly already wearing down. It wouldn’t take much more to break Peter.

“I have plans for you, sweethear-”

“Stop calling me that!” There was the voice inside of him that wondered why Peter was shouting, that wondered why he was so unnerved, that pointed out that he was just revealing his fear by reacting. But once again, it felt like he couldn’t stop.

“Peter. Sit down.” Something about his tone was light, yet it brooked no argument. Peter felt his own weariness settle over him and moved to sit down on the couch, or rather, crouch on it. Norman smiled at the way the boy crouched against the wall and glared sullenly at him. Just like a little cornered spider.

“I have need of an heir, Peter.”

The boy sneered. “You have an heir. Harry? Your son.”

“Harry’s rather a disappointment.”

“So what, you think _I’m_ going to be your heir?”

“Just shut up and let me talk.”

“Go ahead,” the boy crossed his arms over his knees and rolled his eyes. “Monologue. Tell me all about your great plans.”

“As I was saying, I need an heir. Harry’s a disappointment,” he saw something tighten in the younger man’s jaw and felt a strange tug of warmth. Peter cared so much about Harry. That was one of the things Norman had liked about Peter, despite how derisive he could be about the boy’s trusting nature – he was a caring soul.

“You obviously aren’t going to function as an heir,” Norman laughed. “You are, however, a perfect mate.”

“What?” Peter barked a laugh. Then his head fell back against the wall and he howled.

“You.. did you just… Oh god!”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Peter.” Norman’s voice was full of a creepy warmth that caused Peter’s laughter to melt into chuckles.

“You’re serious. Wow.” He shook his head. “Okay, so what’s your plan?” Peter stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles, and raised his hands, palms up. “You’re gonna get me pregnant? I mean Jesus, Norman, you could have just taken me out for _dinner_ first.”

Norman was nibbling on his own cheek thoughtfully. Peter felt a chill go up his spine.

“My god, you are serious.”

“You see, Peter, it’s honestly not that complicated, technically speaking-”

“Oh god…”

“Of course, the major issue has always been finding people willing to undergo something like that. It isn’t just a surgery after all. It’s more than one-”

“Oh god.” Peter lifted his hands to his forehead. “You really…”

“Not only would I have to make a _channel_ , but-”

“Shut up!” The young man leapt to his feet nimbly, startling Norman. Shit. The boy was recovering faster than Osborn had originally thought. He moved one of his hands to a pocket in his lab coat.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of your sick mouth,” Peter’s eyes were lit up in that way. How beautiful he must be when he was in the throes of fury during a fight. Such a dangerous man, but underneath it all, he was beautiful, delicate.

“Peter,” he said softly, pulling something from his coat. Peter’s eyes fell to it and he laughed.

“What’s that? A taser?” he mocked, tilting his head. “You think that’s gonna stop me?”

He leapt forward, foot kicking out toward Norman’s chest. Norman stepped aside, pressing the button on the remote he held, and when the boy hit the ground, he was already thrashing and crying out.

“I hate doing this, Peter,” he said finally. Peter clenched his teeth. “I really do. I want you to be happy. Make you feel good. But you have to be good for me.” He saw the confusion on the boy’s face as he lie shivering against the floor.

“Peter… Pietra.”

Peter’s eyes journeyed to meet his. Then he saw the fear blooming in them, yet just like that Peter’s fury returned, his lip curling into a sneer.

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

Norman saw the sweat on his forehead and sighed. He turned and headed around Peter toward the double doors, giving the boy a wide berth.

“When you decide to behave,” he called back. “I can bring you some water and something to eat!”

“Great. I’ll take a double cheeseburger with onion rings and a side of fuck off and die.. Oh that’s right, you were supposed to have already done that! Silly me.”

Norman smiled as he exited the room, the door clicking locked behind him.

* * *

Peter wasn’t sure how long he lie on the floor. Eventually he began to feel cold again, so he went to curl up on the couch. Honestly, it was a shame he was in captivity, because the atrium really was nice and it was the exact sort of place Peter would like to curl up with a book, or several books, or maybe his camera.

He remembered the door by the bed; he hoped it led to the little spider’s room because he was feeling the need to go again. Peter made a face at the shower, noting there were no curtains.

“Ugh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered to himself as he lie on his side.

He shook his head. Maybe Osborn was just fucking with him. No, Osborn had to be fucking with him. He couldn’t seriously believe that he could turn Peter into a woman or even some kind of pregnant man. He shuddered at the mental image. At the same time it was so ludicrous that he had to let out a weak laugh. He pictured himself wearing sweats and a tee shirt with a belly, stuffing his face with ice cream and bitching at Osborn to get him Chinese takeout.

“Fucking ugh,” he laughed softly, shaking his head. “Guy’s out of his mind.”

The sound of the water reminded him how thirsty he was and that he needed to pee. He sat up, groaning as his head spun again. When he felt able, he stood.

“Fucking poison. Asshole,” he spat toward the door and turned, pulling his dick out of his underwear to piss on the tree’s stump. “Sorry tree,” he told it. “It’s nothing personal.”

He sighed and went to the fountain next, kneeling by it to drink from it. Hm, the water was pretty good. Hopefully Osborn hadn’t put more poison in it.

He nearly jumped when he looked up and saw Osborn standing on the other side of the glass. Then he snarled and got up. Norman gave a little wave and that was it. Peter was walking briskly toward him. Funny, it seemed like his strength was finally making a come back. That was good, because his spidey senses, while muted, were still wreaking havoc on his nerves, and he felt like punching the shit out of Osborn after those shocks. He wanted to tell the man to get his ass in the room so that Peter could beat him into the floor, but he merely stopped, quietly watching the scientist.

“Peter…” Norman sighed, putting a hand up on the glass.

Peter lifted a brow, wrinkling his nose. “What do you think this is?” he asked. “A movie? You think I’m just gonna fall in love with you, is that it?” He raised his arms and waved around him. “What, am I on a set or something?”

Norman chuckled. “It’s a set, built just for you, sweetie.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” he said softly. “My name is Peter.”

Norman shook his head, smiling. “Not for long.”

Peter fought the urge to bang against the doors. He would try to ram through them, but knowing Norman, the place would be secure. Norman held something up and that was when Peter noticed the bag in his hand. In his other, was a drink. Burger King.

“I prefer Sonic actually.” Peter shrugged. “But BK works I guess. Did you bring me a crown?”

Osborn looked surprised at the sudden levity in his tone. “No, I didn’t. But I’ll get you one next time.”

“Actually, you should go to Mickey D’s next time and get me a happy meal,” Peter shrugged again and turned to walk away from the door.

Osborn waited until he sat on the couch, then entered the room. He brought the meal to the couch, setting it down. Peter huffed as he watched the man retreat. He slowly walked over to the food, watching Osborn who watched him through the glass.

“I feel like a zoo animal,” he called.

Norman chuckled. “My very own giant spider exhibit.”

Peter made a face, taking the food and going to sit down with it. Norman watched with amusement as he first looked through the burger, frowning and sniffing at it. Then he chuckled, watching as Peter sat, his legs crossed, taking massive bites of it and flashing Norman a glare from time to time.

* * *

Things were going well that first day, as far as Norman was concerned. They’d only had one melt down. Peter would fight him at first, he knew, but soon the boy would begin to see that he couldn’t fight forever. Norman had time, money, and control of the situation on his side. Peter would have to play by his rules or suffer consequences.

He decided to entertain himself, up in his own apartment above ground, by going through Spiderman’s belongings. First there was the bookbag itself. He shook his head at the bullet holes and scorch marks on it. Clearly this was the bookbag he carried with him all the time. He found a change of clothes inside, wrinkling his nose at the smell of some shitty cologne. Or maybe it was that girl’s perfume. Well, Peter was a good looking boy, though he had terrible taste in women. Really, he could do much better. Just like Harry – always dating some piece of trash.

Norman dug further, finding a set of keys, probably to Parker’s apartment which he’d already raided. He’d yet to go through the boy’s laptop. There was a password, but that was easy enough to get around. Still, Parker was fairly smart and probably more than a little paranoid.

Though he apparently had no sense of self preservation when it came to walking into dark alleyways. He shook his head. This was exactly why Parker was safer down in his new habitat than out on the streets. Those idiot Avengers had filled his little head with ideas. Well, Peter was not a demigod or a supersoldier and he sure as hell was not a man with a billion dollar flying suit. He was a boy who had gotten lucky.

His smirk widened as he dug out Peter’s phone and began to go through it. Oh look, text messages!

“Hey did you get home yet?” he mimicked a girl’s voice aloud. “I miss u already!.” He rolled his eyes. “Well that’s stimulating conversation right there, Parker.”

He shook his head. It was just like Harry and that Mary Jane bimbo. What a waste, honestly. Peter was so smart…

' _But you want to turn him into your meek little fuck toy_.'

Well if Peter behaved himself there was no reason why he couldn’t have a little freedom. Norman had always liked Peter’s curiosity. Perhaps here he could direct it to safer, more useful endeavors.

' _You should just kill him. He’ll turn on you_.'

“He’s mine,” he argued aloud. “We agreed, didn’t we?”

' _Play with him all you like. But don’t turn your back on him_.'

Norman chuckled as he turned back to the text messages. “Oh don’t worry. I’ll be taking my time with him.”

* * *

Osborn had disappeared after a while and Peter became concerned. What if the asshole died while he was out doing something? Then Peter would be stuck here.

Would he starve? He had a water supply, but no food other than the burger and these fries left.

“Where’s my onion rings?” he called, munching on them.

When he finished, he wiped his greasy hands off on the hospital gown and grumbled about real clothes. Then he picked up the drink. Pepsi.

“Hm!” he said, turning and heading over to the fountain to crouch by it as he sipped. Well this was the weirdest day of his life, aside from that time he got bit by a spider that gave him powers. He’d had some bizarre shit happen to him, but this took the cake. Green Goblin kidnapping him and not torturing him but instead trying to turn him into a _girl_. He kept looking up suddenly to make sure he wasn’t being crept up on. The place was eerily quiet. He decided to explore some more.

Curious, he hopped up and tried to clamber up the wall. His feet and hands were sticking as usual, but they trembled, so he slid down and sat staring up at the wall peering at where it connected to the ceiling. Fuck. His glasses. Apparently Osborn had the forethought to remove his contacts while he was out. He shuddered, picturing the man’s fingers in his eyes. He lifted his own fingers to his eye, feeling. Yep, no contacts. Maybe that was why they felt so gummy when he woke up – because Osborn was poking him in the eye while he was asleep.

“Great,” Peter grumbled.

Then he was up again, crawling slowly up the wall. Funny, there were beams going across from one wall to the other, low enough under the ceiling that he would have room to walk on them upright. He sat on one, resting, and noticed he could actually hear birds. He had heard the birds earlier, but he hadn’t actually paid attention to them. Since he didn’t see any, he decided it had to be a recording. It was very well designed, he had to admit that. The lights resembled natural sunlight filtering down. He found himself wondering what time it actually was out side and how long he’d actually been in here. It couldn’t have been that long, really.

Twenty four hours? Forty eight? Four days. A week.

“Fuck that,” he mumbled. He brushed a hand over his chin. His current bristle did not suggest so long as a week.

His hand returned to his cheek again, feeling the bristle there, and he felt a chill.

He knew a girl… well, a guy, in high school. Trey decided he wanted to be a girl or something. He’d always been kinda girly, Peter supposed. Peter didn’t really get it. Why would someone want to cut off their dick?

But Trey took all these hormones first, as he explained when Peter asked out of curiosity. He took estrogen which sounded crazy to Peter. Why would you up your body with hormones like that?

“Imagine,” Trey told him. “If you woke up in the wrong body.”

“Well, yeah I get that,” Peter started to interrupt.

“Hold on,” Trey lifted his – her – hands. Trey wanted to be known as Leslie, but Peter was having a hard time calling him… her, that. “Imagine if you woke up as a woman.”

Peter grinned.

“Pervert,” Trey – Leslie – teased him, rolling her eyes.

“Well… duh,” they both laughed.

“But you’d be confused after a while.”

“Well yeah!”

“You’d be upset. You’d feel trapped.”

Peter had nodded. He could see what Leslie was trying to say. It was just… the idea of losing his penis and getting a vagina?

“It’s because you’re fine with your body,” Leslie explained. “You’re in the right body.”

'I’m in my only body,' Peter had thought at the time. He’d wished Leslie the best luck and all – after all, if it was what made her happy, then it was what she should do, he thought. But he still didn’t really get it.

Standing there in the atrium, he was starting to realize he might actually find out.


	3. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to reason with Norman Osborn. Meanwhile Norman investigates Peter's things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool actually enters in the next chapter, not this one! Sorry!   
> Sorry about the long wait for an update. I'm really bad about updating things.

“Don't do this,” the timid voice answered as soon as Norman called for Peter.   
Norman frowned.   
“Come again?”   
He didn't see his spider boy anywhere. He peered up at the thick beams going across the room, below the ceiling. He wanted Peter to feel comfortable and he knew the boy needed plenty of room to climb and swing around.   
The boy stepped out from behind the fountain in the center of the room.   
“Please,” his voice shook slightly. “Don't do this.”   
Norman nodded, realizing what he was talking about.   
“Peter,” he chuckled.   
“Tell me you're not serious. About the whole... creepy thing.”   
“Creepy thing?” Norman honestly felt slightly insulted. Really, Peter was being ungrateful considering what he could have done with his nemesis. At least he was letting him live in a comfortable environment.   
“That's a hurtful thing to say about my plans. I even got you a cheeseburger,” he said lightly as he began to unlock the door. "I'll bring it when you're hungry."  
“You can't be serious,” Peter continued to stand by the column, one hand against it. Norman felt a tug of concern. Was he still feeling weak? The scientist stepped into the room and moved closer.   
“Peter? Are you feeling all right?”   
“Fuck off, seriously.”  
“You're very profane lately.”   
“You kidnapped me!”   
“Well!” He laughed. “You nearly killed me if you want to talk about wrongs-”   
“Wrongs? You've got to be kidding me. I never wronged you. I tried to stop you from tearing New York apart, if that's what you're talking about-”   
“Oh, Peter.”   
“You're fucking serious! You think-”   
“Can you try not using that word?”   
“Fuck no.” Then “Whoa, stay back!”   
Norman felt a rush of pleasure at the fear in the boy's eyes as he stepped closer, along with the smallest pang of sadness. Peter would get used to him though, once he accepted who was in charge.   
Norman stepped up and grabbed him by the arms.   
“Look at me,” he growled and Peter cringed away from him.   
He could tell the boy was still weak, just by the fact that he didn't kick or fight. But then, maybe his little lesson with the shocking earlier had gotten through that thick skull of his? Or he could be biding his time. Then again, Norman was still stronger than an average human himself, thanks to the formula.   
“I'm not going to hurt you, Peter.”   
“The fuck you aren't,” He snapped, then flinched as he was slapped. For a moment, he stood with his face stinging, then he opened his eyes to glare at the other man.   
“You-” he started to struggle, trying to kick at Norman, but the scientist shoved him onto the floor. Peter landed hard and cried out softly.   
“I don't want to hurt you,” Norman said through clenched teeth, pulling out the remote. “But you have to behave, Peter.”  
“Leave me alone,” Peter grimaced, pushing himself up off the floor. Norman held up the remote and he stilled, eyes glaring up at him in fury. The older man hated it, honestly. He might be doing more harm than good at this stage.   
“Peter, I don't want to have to break you, but I will-” he raised his voice when the boy curled his lip and looked about to curse him again. “If I have to.” He gestured with the remote. “I want us to get along while you're here.”   
Peter seemed to relax and frown suspiciously at the same time.   
“While I'm here?”   
Norman smiled.   
“Yes.”   
“Oh? How long is that going to be?”   
“I'm hoping for a long time.”   
“Fuck you,” Peter hissed.   
Norman sighed. “Peter. The next time you use that word, I'm going to punish you.”   
The younger man shook his head, staring up at the scientist.   
“You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to to just stick around.”   
“You're going to learn to talk to me with respect. Or there will be consequences.”   
Peter just shook his head again. Eventually his eyes lowered to the floor.   
“What do you want?”   
“I told you. Yes, I am serious. Which is why I need you to be careful and get some rest.”   
Peter shook his head. “I won't go along with this.”  
“You're afraid. That's understandable-”   
“Go to hell.”  
“I'm warning you,” Norman said.   
The spider man watched him. Then he sneered and moved to a crouch. Norman prepared himself to have to fight back, but just like that, Peter was crawling up the wall. He watched with amusement and wariness, backing up, as Peter settled on a branch above. He seemed to test the branch for a moment, as if to see if he could trust it. Then he sat with his legs dangling on either side of it, leaning back against the wall.   
“Like it up there?”   
Peter flipped him off. Norman smiled.   
“I'll leave you to your fun. I have other things to take care of. I just wanted to check on you.”   
“Wow, really sweet of you,” Peter watched as Osborn walked underneath him, still glancing up. He felt the immature urge to spit on the man, but that might send him into a rage and Peter's body was still shaking from the shocking he'd received earlier.   
With a sigh, he watched as Osborn walked away. So much for trying to reason with the maniac. It didn't matter anyway, he thought, as he closed his eyes, intending to take a nap. 

He blinked awake and grumbled at how tired he felt. He reached up to wipe at his eyes and frowned.   
He was still on the branch. And now his ass hurt because the log was right between his butt cheeks.   
“Ughh,” he grumbled, sitting up. His tailbone was not happy. “Good job, Parker.”   
He heard a chuckle and glared at the man sitting below, over on the sofa.   
“Have a good nap?”   
“What time is it?” Peter asked.   
“I asked a question first.”   
“Fu...” he stopped himself, remembering the consequences again and rolled his eyes as he sat up, wincing. He moved his feet underneath his butt so that the tops of them were pressed against the log.   
“It was okay.”   
“Sounded interesting,” Norman was flipping through some papers. “Like you were dreaming.”   
Peter realized he'd give his arm to know what the papers were. He might end up doing just that. He pretended to stretch leisurely, arching his back. With annoyance, he noted the way Osborn looked up when he did.   
'So he likes that huh?'  
He lie forward, propping his chin on his hands.   
Osborn seemed to be watching him curiously now, sitting back and crossing his legs.   
Peter licked his lips. They were dry again. Honestly, would he ever get rid of this cotton mouth? “So uh, what time is it?”   
Norman smiled and slowly looked at his watch.   
“It's eight pm.”   
“Huh! Still early. Maybe we can make the evening show.”   
“Of what exactly?”   
He shrugged. “The Hobbit: Legend of Smaug?”   
“I could rent it if you like.”   
“Ah but it won't be on rent for a while,” Peter considered.   
“I'm sure I could download it somewhere,” Norman muttered.   
“Hey, torrents are bad for your computer.”   
Norman smiled as he lowered a pen to one of the papers on his lap.   
“Whatcha doin?” Peter lowered his legs and swung them, sitting up again.   
“Enjoying the view.”   
Peter blushed as he realized he was still wearing a hospital gown. He quickly pulled his legs up, scrambling backward and trying to cover his thighs with it. Norman chuckled.   
“Can I have some real clothes?”   
“Hm. Maybe you should,” Norman said. “Are you cold?”   
Peter nodded. “Not to mention this branch isn't too comfy.”   
“There's the couch, and your bed. Though honestly, I didn't mean to keep you in here forever.”   
“Oh? Don't tell me!” Peter stood up slowly on the branch, arms sticking out to balance himself. Norman's full attention was on him now. “You got us the honeymoon suite, right?”   
“You really are something. I'm glad I didn't kill you.”   
“Bah, you wouldn't do that, would ya?”   
Peter slowly stuck out one leg, away from Norman of course. He didn't want the creeper looking up his skirt again.   
“Peter...” Norman called warningly, standing up and depositing the papers in his seat  
“Ahh, quit yer naggin!” Peter grinned as he fell sideways. Norman gasped and reached forward. Peter laughed and caught himself, swinging upside down from the the log by all fours. “Such a wuss!”   
“Peter Parker, get down here this minute.”   
“Okay ma'am!” Peter jumped, landing in a crouch. He stood with a smirk, his hands up. Norman made a slow exhale of annoyance. “Hey! You said to get down here right now.”   
“Very cute.” Norman's eyes were sharp. Peter decided it was time to stop pushing. “Get over here.”   
The younger man slowly stepped forward, watching him.   
“This is a schedule,” He held out a paper to Peter who snatched it. When Norman didn't snatch it back and merely gave him a lifted brow, he looked over it. A chill flooded his bones.  
“First shot?”   
Norman smiled. Peter cursed and almost tossed the schedule away. But he knew he'd regret it if he did that. He looked at it again.   
“What's today's date?” his voice was dry again.   
“January seventh.”   
The seventh? It was already the seventh? The last time he'd looked at his phone in Gwen's house... He tried to think, his memory foggy. It had been the fourth.   
“Peter?”   
He held a hand to his chest and breathed in deeply.   
“Gwen,” he whispered.   
Norman scowled. “No longer our concern.”   
“Fuck you,” Peter gasped, moving into a crouch again.   
“Peter. Watch your language.”   
“My chest...” He gasped, breathing in.   
“Here, have some water.” Osborn picked up a bottle by his feet and moved to hand it to him. Peter knocked it away.   
“Leave me alone. Can't you see you're the one...” Peter gasped. “Doing this to me.” He groaned, his head lowering. Norman cursed. The boy's face was growing red. The schedule slipped from his fingers to float through the air and slide onto the floor.   
“Peter, let me give you something to drink.”   
“No!”   
“Damn stubborn boy,” he snarled and reached forward, grabbing his arm to pull him up. Peter groaned and coughed as he was half dragged, half shoved over to the fountain. On his knees, he sat by it, Osborn wetting his own hand to smooth it over Peter's forehead. He wet his other hand, moving it to the back of Peter's neck.   
“Why,” Peter said softly. “Why did you pick me of all people?”   
“Because,” Norman sighed, smoothing the hand up and down his neck, massaging a little. Peter turned his head away, jerking slightly out of his touch. “I want you, Peter.”   
“Fuck you. You don't want me. You just want to hurt me.”   
“Language.”   
“Ugh, fuck you,” Peter groaned, leaning forward.   
“Apologize.”   
“Fuck off.”  
Norman's grip tightened on his neck and he winced.   
“Apologize,” the voice that came from him was harsh and his fingers curved inward to press his nails into Peter's neck. The younger man gasped.   
“I'm. Sorry,” he breathed hard again, his eyes watering as he looked into the other man's gaze.   
Norman slowly let go, shoving him slightly in the process. Peter sat there, watching as the man stood and turned, gathering up his papers. Peter watched as he headed toward the door and slammed it behind him.   
“Asshole,” he said softly. He turned to splash more water on his face. 

He heard the door open again sometime later and sat up, wincing at the soreness on the back of his neck. He was on the couch, his feet toward the doorway. For a moment he stared at Osborn whose eyes slowly moved from his ankles up to his legs. Peter scrambled up, covering himself, and blushed, cursing softly.   
Osborn tossed a bundle of cloth at him, then turned with a smirk and left the room.   
“Cover yourself up.”   
Peter flipped the man off behind his back, adding a second middle finger for extra fun. Then he scooted toward the bundle of clothes, wincing at the cold parts of the couch where he hadn't been lying.   
Oh goody – sweatpants, and a sweater. There was also some socks. He noted the shirt – simple white tee.   
Well the sweater was nice at least. Thick and dark gray.   
“No dresses yet?” he mocked aloud, then winced. Maybe he shouldn't give the guy any ideas.   
Berating himself for talking to his captor period, he pulled on the sweatpants, yanked off the hospital gown, tossing it away in distaste, then tugged on the shirt and sweater. Finally, he put the socks on his feet. They were nice socks too – wool. Much better.   
The pants were a little big around the waist, but it wasn't really a problem. He could tie them.   
Now if only he could find out what time it was. When he had last asked Osborn, the man said it was 8 pm. That was... an hour ago?  
He shook his head and sighed, wondering what the man had done with his phone. 

Norman was enjoying himself going through Peter's text messages again. It was quite entertaining actually, deciphering what the hell was going on in some of these conversations.   
He noted a text from someone named 'Cap.'  
“Want to join us on the rooftop, Spiderman?” Along with a smiley face. He tried to find what Peter's reply was, but he didn't see one.   
He flipped further back and frowned when he saw a very lascivious one.   
“Spidey bb, I could make ur dreams come true. In ur pants.” There was a kissy face next to it. Ugh, was this that Gwen tramp again?   
His brows rose on his forehead as he saw it came from a certain “DP.” He would have to ask Peter. Norman's distaste grew as he kept reading other messages from “DP.”   
Peter had replied to him: “Ew.”   
Norman chuckled and kept reading.   
DP: “But Spidey I just wanna make sweet love to ya womaaan.”   
Peter: “Stay away from my woman. And how did you get my number?”  
DP: “Make sweet love to ya spidermaaan.”   
Peter: “No thank you.”   
DP: “Oh spidey. My panties is wet 4 u.”   
Peter: “Gross.”  
DP: “Yah, I should prob take a shower. U want me to text u a nudey pic?”  
Peter: “Hell no. Stop texting me.”

Whoever this “DP” was they were like a hyper child. Honestly, Norman had to sigh. here did Peter meet these people?   
He was flipping back further when he caught sight of some interesting pictures. Peter and his girlfriend had texted pictures back and forth. Nothing lascivious, though Peter had apparently taken a picture of himself with his shirt off, which Norman decided he would have to download to his computer for later enjoyment. There were a few videos too. Peter at the park, filming pigeons and his girlfriend. Peter skateboarding. One video mysteriously shot from the top of a building and then the camera seemed to fall toward the ground, causing Norman to tense up... just when the camera started heading up toward the sky again.   
“Whoo hoo hoo!” Someone called in the background. Norman rolled his eyes. Doubtless, Peter had fun as Spiderman.   
Then there were other shots of various things. People he didn't recognize, buildings, one picture of May that was artfully done. Peter did have a good eye for photography, he remembered.   
After all, Peter was the main photographer of Spider Man. He shook his head. Idiots, all of them, including himself. How had people not noticed that before?   
Jameson must have realized, but then he was a smart man when it came to business; he wouldn't say anything as long as the pictures kept coming.   
Yes, Peter was definitely smart. Which was exactly why Norman would have to be careful. Peter would look for the soonest opportunity to run and he would take it, out of desperation. Any animal would. But, given time and the proper conditioning, an animal would learn to obey.  
For a moment, while looking at a picture of Peter smiling and waving, wearing some silly snow hat on his head, Norman felt guilty. Not for what he was doing of course, no, but for comparing Peter to an animal. He gazed into the large dark eyes in the picture.  
No, he was certainly more.


	4. Mercurial Mercenary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool is a wack job, but the Avengers need his help to find Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken forever for me to post this, I know! As promised, enter Deadpool! 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Referenced past child sexual abuse.

Chapter Four: Interlude

 

Deadpool _had_ actually noticed the absence of a certain spidery hero, thank you very much.

He just didn't exactly think there was anything that suspicious about it. After all, he and Spidey only occasionally teamed up. So when the news reports mentioning rumors of the death of NY's most famous wall crawler and trapeze artist, he merely blew it off.

“Pffft! Like _that_ would ever happen. Sure, maybe he'll have some kinda plot arc where he sorta dies and then comes back. But Spidey is _way_ too popular for _death_ death.”

[He's got more merchandise than Captain America!] His white box informed him.

“That is totally true,” he agreed with himself. “I was up in the JC Penney's the other day and girl, you would not believe all the Spidey t-shirts I saw. Where are _my_ t-shirts?” 

[Probably on Amazon.]

People stared at him in the restaurant where he was stuffing his face, his mask pulled up halfway.

“Turn the fuck around,” he told the pair of teenage boys staring at him. They muttered under their breath, but decided not to tempt the crazy man wearing swords and a red and black suit.

“But yeah, you were right about that one, Brain,” he went back to talking to himself.

[Sometimes we're right. But only sometimes.]

“Yeah yeah...”

The lady on the teevee kept going on about how Spider Man's mask had been left on a flag pole on the Avenger's tower, along with a sign that looked to be written in blood “SPIDERMAN IS NO MORE.”

“FAIL!” He shouted at the image. “Whoever did that? _Didn't write his name correctly._ It's Spider Man. Like two words _. Not one, people.”_

People turned to glare at him. He burped and flipped them off before getting up and wandering out with his drink.

“Look, I can text Spidey right here and now and prove this is all bullshit!”

He began to text, tossing his drink into a garbage can. Wade didn't type very well, having not finished high school, but he typed even worse on purpose.

“On porpoise,” he noted. “I type badly on porpoise, author.” He made dolphin noises as he typed out a message: “Spidey, u dead? Errbody say u dead.”

“If he answers that, then he's not dead.” Wade sighed and scratched at his belly as he considered where to go next. His phone began to ring a moment later.

“Ah-ha! Told ya, NYC! I told ya Spidey ain't- oh...” he frowned. It wasn't from Spidey.

“Hulky?” he answered. “How'd you get my number?”

“You gave it to me,” Bruce Banner sighed. “Look, if you haven't noticed, Spider Man has gone missing.”

“Oh you mean PETER PARKER?” he shouted into the phone. “Cause yeah, I _do_ know his true idents.”

“Do you know where he is?” Banner's voice turned threatening.

“Man, I didn't steal no Spidey. Like I could even try.”

“He has a point,” someone said in the background.

“Stark, that you?”

“Yep.”

“ _Fuck_ you.” He hung up and decided to steal a scooter in front of the restaurant.

“Whee!” He weaved through traffic on the Vespa. “This is dangerous!” He looked down to note there was a radio on the Vespa so he turned it on.

“I want your lovin', I want your revenge! You and me could write a bad romance!” he sang along. He sped ahead through a red light, giggling as people honked and slammed on their breaks around him.

It was lovely with the wind blowing at his mask and Lady Gaga singing, but it came to a halt when he noticed a certain someone flying over him.

“Man!” He crouched. “They see me rollin. They hatin! Patro-”

“Not that traffic isn't usually a mess around here,” Iron Man told him. “But you have a talent for making everything worse.”

“All this hate,” Wade sighed, wondering if he could reach his gun fast enough to shoot Stark in the face for flying right over his head so that the stupid thrusters in his robot shoes hurt Wade's ears.

“How do you have Peter's number?”

“Look, Spidey and I go way back. Spidey and I are in love. And we were planning a romantic get away complete with homoerotic tension when _you people_ showed up.”

Stark tilted his head.

“And that is honestly the last I've seen of Spidey. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to get my groove back, so-”

“Change of plans,” Stark grunted, reaching down and yanking him off the scooter by his neck. Wade kicked out and cursed at him, throwing out the odd cry of “Chimichangas!”

“You're coming with me. Even though I can smell you through this suit – phew! Do you even know what a bath is?”

A moment later and they were taking off through the sky.

* * *

 

“Iron Man kidnapping honest citizens off the street!” Wade ranted as he was dropped on the roof of the Avenger's tower at an uncomfortable height. He grunted as he rolled to a stop. A black boot settled on his head.

“Where is Peter?”

“Fuck if I know,” he told Natasha Romanoff who glared down at him.

“What is this then?” she pointed to the sign still hanging from the Avenger's Tower.

“You guys _still_ haven't cleaned that up? You know that's bad for PR, right?” Wade sighed, stretching out on his side, his head propped up by a hand.

“How do you know his number?”

“Hey...” a voice called softly. “He's probably telling the truth. Weird as it sounds.”

“Heya Hawkeye!” Wade whistled at Clint who was followed by Steve Rogers. “Lookin good, bae. Hey Cap! How's it goin?”

“Don't ever call me 'bae' again.”

"Deadpool," Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you going to help us find Spider Man?"

“Isn't it useless to talk to him?” Stark, meanwhile, was stepping into his armor removal system.

“Gay!” Wade shouted, pointing at him, and promptly received a kick from Natasha in the thigh.

“Yep. I'm definitely gay,” Tony rolled his eyes. “Me with the gorgeous redhead.”

"Stark," Steve gave the inventor a look. "What do you say, Deadpool?" 

“Hey where's Norse Barbie? I betcha he's got Spidey!”

“Norse Barbie,” Stark chuckled.

Steve sighed. “We're hoping you'll work with us and help us find him.”

“Do we really want his help?” Natasha wondered.

“Hey! Why _wouldn't_ you want my help?”

“Because you're insane?” Natasha supplied. “And you've been texting Peter all kinds of creepy shit apparently.”

“Hey! I protest the use of that language, being a person with mental issues.”

“Oh you've got issues all right,” Stark added.

“Aww yeah and they're revamping me for another series!”

“Um. Okay." 

Wade pulled out his phone and began to text Peter again.

Bruce Banner arrived next, approaching briskly from the rooftop entrance. He was wearing a long coat and a scarf.

“Oh shit, it's the next Doctor!” Wade nearly dropped his phone trying to take a picture. Bruce held up a hand in front of his own face. “Aw c'mon!”

“Stop being obnoxious,” Natasha snapped.

“He can't,” Clint and Tony said at the same time. Bruce smiled a little.

“You and Peter are friends, right?"

“Yeah! So?” Wade lifted his chin, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why? What's it to you?”

Bruce shrugged. “He mentioned you a few tim-”

“Oh _did_ he?” Wade giggled and leaned against Bruce who cringed away.

“Don't!” Tony reached for the massked man who hopped away from them both. “Don't bother him.”

“What'd he say about me?”

“He said that you played some games together.”

“Eeh we did!” Wade sighed, remembering. “Me and Spidey had bro times!”

“Is that what you call it these days?” Stark quipped.

“We played Xbox and Spidey ordered pizza and we told each other _secrets!_ ”

“None of this is getting us closer to finding him,” Natasha protested. “We're wasting time.”

“What kind of secrets?” Bruce prodded, winking at Tony.

“No! Not telling!” Wade covered his mouth with his hands, even though it was already covered by his mask. “He trusted me!”

“But the secrets-”

“No!”

“-might help us find him,” Bruce pointed out. “Think. Was there anything he mentioned to you lately?”

“Uh – he had a new girlfriend?”

“Did he?” Tony lifted a brow.

“He did mention her. Gwen Stacy,” Bruce nodded.

“She's a'ight,” Wade shrugged. “Kind of a stick with a pancake ass -”

“Greetings friends,” Thor arrived, descending from the sky, and Wade began to sing like a boy in a choir.

“Halle-llu-jaaah!”

Tony had to cover his face with a hand.

“Glad you're here,” Steve called. “Maybe we can get down to business-”

“And defeat. The HUNS!” Wade did some martial arts moves and Tony groaned.

Thor sighed. “Why is the madman here?”

“Ya see anything, Norse Barbie?”

Thor blinked at him, turning to look at Steve. “I saw nothing of our friend. It seems he has vanished from the city. I would suspect my brother, but he is in Asgard, under watch.”

“Yeah, yeah, he's probably tearin' around somewhere with that awesome helmet,” The merc sighed, reaching into his bag and pulling something out. He tossed it into the air and began to kick it from foot to foot. A hackey sack.

“You like that helmet?” Stark asked.

“That helmet is bitchin.”

“Bitchin?” Tony laughed.

“Man, you guys just don't get style. Amirite, Thor?”

“My brother always did wear the latest fashions of Asgard.”

“All right,” Steve sighed. “While this is fun, we aren't getting closer to finding Peter.”

“I say one of us visit Miss Stacy and ask-”

“Nnn!” Wade raised his hand, lettin the hackeysack fall to the ground. Natasha rolled her eyes along with Tony.

“No, Wilson. Not you.” Steve's eyes narrowed.

“I'll go,” Natasha offered.

“The rest of us can look into what Spiderman's been up to lately. Who has he been fight- Yes, Wade?”

“Ooh, I know! He and I teamed up not too long ago!” he was kicking the hackeysack around again. “There was a bunch of losers and we fought them together!”

Steve grasped the bridge of his nose.

“What losers?” Stark groused.

“ _Which_ losers,” Bruce corrected, smiling when Tony gave him a look.

“Uhh, some mooks from HYDRA. I betcha _they_ know where Spidey is!” He kicked the sack over to Clint who ignored it.

They all chuckled except Steve who frowned.

“The fools of HYDRA could not hold the spider man,” Thor said confidently.

“We should check everything,” Natasha pointed out.

“All right,” Steve looked to Deadpool. “You and I will investigate HYDRA.”

“Are you serious?” Tony looked alarmed. “You really want to do that to yourself?”

Steve sighed. “What do you suggest?”

“I suggest we trace his phone, which Bruce and I have already been doing.”

Everyone looked to him and Bruce.

“And?”

“Unfortunately, we can't seem to get a signal from it.”

Natasha muttered. “It might already be destroyed.”

“You mean he didn't get my messages?” Wade gasped.

“Because that's really the most important thing right now?” The Black Widow glared at Deadpool who nodded emphatically.

“Anyone else who might want to capture, torture, whatever Spider Man?” Stark asked.

“Please don't say that,” Steve said quietly. Tony looked almost ashamed but rephrased his statement.

“Ahem. Any. Other. Ideas?”

Everyone was quiet, thinking, including Wade, which Natasha found surprising.

“What? I'm capable of thought!” Wade said when he caught her looking at him with a raised brow.

“That's new,” Stark couldn't resist.

“What about old enemies of his? Doctor Octopus? The Green Goblin?”

“Goblin's dead,” Bruce muttered.

“Ha, that never stopped anybody before!”

“We should check everything, like you said, Natasha,” Bruce added.

“Don't listen to me anymore.” She groaned. Bruce smiled.

The group split a few minutes later, Bruce and Tony returning to work on tracing Peter's phone and laptop, Natasha heading to interview Gwen Stacy, while Steve and Wade headed for HYDRA, and Thor and Clint went to investigate other leads.

* * *

 

From what he could tell he'd been in Osborn's clutches for several days now and Peter was slowly cracking. He could feel himself breaking under the continual strain of feeling like he had to hide somehow from the man. He wasn't able to stay conscious all the time and trying to just left him exhausted.

Of course it was ridiculous, to even think he could hide here in a cage. He'd mostly taken to perching on one of the logs. He tried to stay fit by shooting webs and swinging from log to log. Peter was not going to let himself fall out of shape.

He shuddered whenever he thought of what Norman had confessed to planning. Part of him still hoped it was a very bad joke, but he knew better. He knew by the man's tone, by the frightening sincerity in his touch. By his eyes.

It was madness, but Osborn was serious. Which meant that Peter had to escape and quickly.

Norman had given him the schedule of each shot, when it was to be administered and what exactly it was. First there were blockers. Then there would be estrogen. All of it was probably altered by Osborn to speed up the effects, of course, and anything chemically altered by Norman Osborn...

“Fuck that,” Peter said softly as he vaulted through the air and caught on to another log, spinning himself over it, then balancing himself for a moment before spinning again. He groaned as dizziness came over him and he clung to the log.

“Not going to let him... do that to me.” He panted. He was certain Osborn had already slipped him something, but what it was exactly, he wasn't sure. He just knew that he felt weaker already.

 

“Peter?” he turned his head suddenly. Norman waved from outside the glass and Peter felt a rush of loathing toward him. Waving so casually like they were friends. At least he hadn't tried to get into Peter's pants. Any of that nonsense and he was a dead man.

“Come down. I've got something for you.”

Peter dropped to the floor, landing in a crouch. He noted a look of amusement on Norman's face and he stood slowly, glaring at the man.

Since his initial outbursts, he hadn't allowed himself to show any anger. He wouldn't give Norman the satisfaction of it. The man had denied him his freedom, but he wouldn't get the pleasure of knowing he was breaking Peter.

The older man sniffed at him.

“How about you take a shower? You're starting to smell like outdoors.”

Peter crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, no thanks. I'm good.”

The older man glanced toward the curtainless shower and smiled a little.

“I want you to be comfortable here, Peter.”

“Well that's sweet of you, but I really can't stay any longer, Normie dearest.”

Norman huffed and looked down at some papers he was holding.

“Some side effects you can expect from the blockers.”

Peter was about to smack the papers out of his hand, but he merely took them, although brusquely. He looked over them quickly.

“Mmm. Testicular atrophy.” He looked up at Norman. “Wow, that sounds like _so_ much fun. I can't _wait._ ” He threw the papers over his shoulder and headed back into the room.

“Peter. Pick that up.”

“Why...” Peter threw his hands up and cursed softly. He turned to look at Norman. “Why are you doing this to me? Why me?”

“I told you. Now pick the papers up.”

“Yes, I'm special. You want me. I get it. But that's not really it, is it? You have to punish me in some fucking gruesome way-”

“Language-”

“It's fucking _disgusting_.” Then he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. “Why? Why this? Why couldn't you just kill me?”

When he looked up, Osborn was approaching him with the remote in his hand. Peter froze, lifting his hands.

“Don't-”

“I told you what would happen if you acted out again, Peter.”

“Stop.”

“Don't run.”

Peter clenched his teeth and stood still, looking at the floor. “Please,” he said.

“That's more like it,” there was always that growl to Osborn's voice that made him feel sick inside. He shuddered as the man stepped closer, gripping his arm. “Come with me.”

He followed, locking down in silence. He would have fought, but he hadn't forgotten how freakishly strong Norman was; his grip felt like the Mark 42nd's. Peter was led out of the atrium and into the smaller room attached to it. This was the room he had first been in – a miniature hospital. His stomach turned at the sight of the table with the straps. Instead of going there, though, he was led to a chair.

“Stand here,” Norman ordered, releasing his arm as they stood in front it. Then the older man sat down on the chair in front of Peter who suddenly felt his stomach drop.

Oh god, he wasn't going to... try to make Peter do something for him, was he?

“All right, Peter.” Osborn seemed nervous. Peter shuddered, remembering years before when he was a kid, when someone pushed him down onto a sofa. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddery breath.

“Peter?”

He opened his eyes, looking at Osborn the way he would a gap between buildings.

“It's all right. You won't be hurt as long as you're good. You know that.” Osborn patted his knee. Peter frowned, puzzled.

“Lie over my lap.”

Peter shook his head.

“No.”

“I'm not going to touch you. But you need to be punished.”

Suddenly Peter got another mental image.

He shook his head. “Hell no.”

“Peter. It's this or the shocks.”

Peter shuddered. “I pick the shocks.”

Osborn glared at him.

“Get over my lap, right now.”

The younger man gave him a disgusted look.

“You're making it worse on yourself.”

Peter glared at him, but stepped closer and woodenly moved over Norman's lap. He would gladly endure the shocks, but his stomach was twisting as if the man's presence had somehow made his nausea worse.

“Up a little more,” Norman put a hand on his lower back and Peter fought the urge to turn and punch him. He could do it. He could. But then Norman would shock him; a level of current that would leave him paralyzed and shuddering on the floor for several minutes. His current weakness and nausea would only worsen the effects. 

Peter took deep breaths, trying to still the panic inside of him. But he moved his hips up further, so that his backside was centered on Norman's lap.

“A little more,” Peter clenched his jaw tightly as Osborn settled a hand on his ass.

“Stop,” he gasped. “Please.”

“Peter...”

They were both silent for a moment. Peter's blood pressure roared in his ears.

“Please... Just please don't do this.”

 

Norman listened to his breath, felt the flesh trembling under his hand and sighed after a few moments of silence. “Fine. I'll let you up now.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, but Osborn put a hand on his back, stopping him.

“Don't disrespect me again. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “Got it.”

“Look at me.” Norman snapped and Peter looked up at him, awkwardly, over his shoulder. The older man relished the sight of him like this – shaken and vulnerable, eyes large and scared. He reached over to stroke Peter's hair, causing him to shiver again.

“You disrespect me again, I won't hesitate. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

Norman removed his hand and marveled at the speed with which Peter was off his lap and halfway across the room. He stood by the door, as if uncertain.

“Go ahead.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief and hurried into the atrium. He stepped over the papers on the floor at first, but then slowly kneeled and gathered them up. As he did, he found himself choking. When he'd gathered them up, he set them on the couch and moved to the fountain to splash his face and drink from it.

Norman watched him for a while, then hurried from the hospital room.

Peter watched him leave, his eyes focusing on the door that led from the medical area. To where did it lead? He wondered. A hallway? Another lab?

He shuddered and curled up by the fountain.

 

 _Sick,_ Peter thought. _Sick. So sick._

He shivered, remembering Skip's hand sliding into the front of his pants. His laughter. 

" _Come on, Einstein. It's not so bad, right?"_

“No!” he groaned. “No! _No!_ ” He began to punch the branch he was sitting on. He didn't care that his fists were hurting. He didn't care if he broke his knuckles wide open.

“No! No...” He collapsed against the log, not even caring if he fell to the floor. He just wished the nausea would go away.

He tried to draw his anger back, his rage at being treated like a caged pet. But he was too tired from all the fear licking at the inside of his skull, gnawing away what was left of his sanity.

Not again. He'd always told himself that. _Never again._

“Why?” he said softly, knowing even as he did how stupid it was. How pointless.

He had always wondered if it was just him. Even years later, he found himself looking in the mirror and wondered if the things people sometimes said were true. Oh they never said it _to_ Peter. Most people had no knowledge of what he'd been through. But they did  say things, about other people. 

Maybe he had somehow been asking for it. Maybe he gave off some sign of weakness? Maybe people people like Skip and Osborn could see that weakness.

If he lie there long enough, he thought, maybe he wouldn't give a shit anymore. Just like with Skip.

He lie listening to his own slowing heartbeat. Maybe if he closed his eyes and pretended it wasn't so bad, then time would pass and it would be over.

Maybe then, it would be easier.

* * *

 

Norman found one other thing in the bookbag. At first, he didn't know what to make of it. He turned it over in his hand, then shrugged. It was just a little sack, made in different color threads. After a few moments of turning it over, he remembered his son kicking one around once.

It was very beat up looking and he considered giving it to Peter. After all, he was being good, so he deserved some kind of reward. He misbehaved, sure, but he was making progress. They ended that day on a good note, Norman thought. He might enjoy kicking it around, and if Norman loved anything, it was seeing Peter smile over the smallest thing.

 

 


	5. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers meet to report the results of their searches. Tony Stark finds some chilling evidence possibly pointing to Peter's kidnapper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Mild Pepper/Tony in this chapter. We'll get back to Peter in the next chapter, which I promise to post soon, either today or tomorrow. Thanks for all the comments!

“So here's the thing,” Stark said. “We tested the blood on the sign.”

They were all gathered in one of the meeting rooms of Stark tower; glasses of water had been supplied across the large table. Wade was busy spinning himself in one of the comfortable, wheeled leather chairs.

“It's a match for Peter."

Silence hung heavy in the room except for Deadpool who whistled. 

"You _are_ the father!" he shouted. Steve, who'd chosen to stand behind his chair, leaning on it, gave the mercenary a puzzled look while Clint rolled his eyes. 

“There wasn't anything on the mask." Bruce added. “No fingerprints. Nothing. Not even a hair.”

The Avengers glanced at eachother, frowning. Wade continued to spin slowly.

“Any activity on the cell phone or laptop?” Steve asked.

Bruce shook his head. “Nothing. Neither seem to be getting any signal.”

“There's got to be _something_ we aren't thinking of,” Natasha's voice was on edge. Clint knew it was hurting her to think of Peter in pain. “There's no... you didn't have any tracking on this kid?”

“He wasn't wearing it when he was taken,” Tony held it up. “Anything I tried to put on him he noticed and disabled himself.”

Natasha didn't react strongly but her eyes closed and she exhaled through her nose as if sighing. Clint put a hand on her shoulder. Tony nodded.

“That was my reaction.”

“You've got to be kidding me. All the technology-” Natasha began.

“I know!" Tony cried. "Fuck, if I ever _find_ the kid again-”

“Tony!”

“I'm sorry.” The inventor realized his mistake, shaking his head. 

“We will find him,” Steve insisted. Then he looked to Natasha. “How did the interview with Ms Stacy go?”

Wade slowed his spinning to a halt and rested his boots on the table, ankles crossed. Tony, seated across from him, scowled pointedly at the mercenary who ignored the look.

“She wasn't exactly open to talking at first,” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I had to explain that I was working for SHIELD, the organization that oversees the Avenger's initiative. She said that she'd last spoken to him January fourth.”

“Three days ago,” Bruce interjected softly.

“He'd spent the night of January the third in her room, then left. He had his bookbag on him which included his cell phone and laptop. He'd told her that he was heading home, to his Aunt's house in Queens. She didn't hear anything more from him. She told me that usually he texted her when he got home. Fury's already spoken with his aunt, May Parker so I followed up with him.”

“Poor woman,” Steve murmured. “Thank you, Natasha. Clint? Thor? Did you find anything?”

“I scoped out Oscorp,” Clint scratched his scalp in thought. “Took a visitor's tour, then split and did some of my own touring. I can't know anything for sure without getting into their computer system, but I heard Osborn junior's been busy on a new project upstate. Sounds like they're building a new research facility.”

“Interesting.” The captain crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall. “Might be worth it to investigate further?” He looked to Bruce and Tony. “Do you think JARVIS might be able to access any information?”

“Oscorp's encrypted but it's probably nothing we can't get past, right Jarvs?” Tony raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I've had no trouble accessing their servers before...” the AI sounded amused.

“Good,” Steve's lips tugged at one corner in a small smile. He nodded to Deadpool who had lifted his mask to slurp noisily from his glass of water. “Wilson and I searched a HYDRA facility that SHIELD conducted a raid on a few months ago, but we didn't find anything there.”

“I can call Bob and see if he knows anything,” Deadpool offered. Everyone stared.

“Bob?” The captain lifted a brow.

“Yeah you know. Bob? My friend Bob I told you about? Hydra Bob.”

“Hydra Bob...” Natasha repeated aloud. “Why are you friends with a member of HYDRA?”

“Bob's not really with HYDRA anymore.” Wade pointed out. “He'd just kinda useful sometimes. Call him up for midnight burrito runs and stuff. Never play Mario Karts with him though. He sucks. Don't let him eat the burritos either. Guy gets the runs like you wouldn't believe.”

Steve cleared his throat. “You can certainly get in touch with your friend and see if he's heard anything, but I'm planning on speaking with Fury about any other possible leads involving HYDRA. There's also Doctor Octopus and Spider Man's numerous other foes.”

“I've already checked. According to SHIELD, Otto Octavius hasn't been seen in years,” Natasha said.

“Yeah he had that whole plot arc where he took over Spidey's body and then died,” Wade said before returning to slurp at his water again. “But I dunno if that holds true for this fanfiction or whatever.”

“What?” Clint glanced to the others, confused.

Tony gave the captain a 'Why are we talking to this guy?' look and gestured a hand toward Deadpool. Steve just gave Wade a concerned look, then glanced to the Asgardian seated at the end of the table.

“Thor? Do you have anything to add?”

Thor sighed. “I will go to Asgard and speak with Heimdall. I may also be able to find someone who can use a spell to search for young Peter.”

“That sounds good,” Steve nodded.

“But they will need something for the spell.” He motioned to the mask resting on the table, wrapped in a ziplock bag. Steve looked to it then glanced to Bruce who shrugged and picked it up, then tossed it to Thor. The god peered at it for a moment, then tucked it away. He nodded to the others as he rose from his seat.

“I will return, shield brothers. Take heart!”

“Thank you, Thor.” Bruce murmured and the others said something along the same line, watching as their Asgardian friend left.

“Bye Norse Barbie,” Deadpool said sadly, then hopped to his feet. “So what are my orders, Cap'n?”

“I can't think of anything else for you to do,” Steve Rogers shrugged a shoulder. “What places did Peter normally frequent with you?”

“Lessee...” The merc began to count on his fingers. “Don Pedro's Burrito Shack, sketchy alleyways, that one rooftop that has a nice view of this tower, he came to my apartment once, that hotel room where I promised him a spider cave-”

“A spider cave?” Clint asked.

“Yeah you know. Where he could have an Alfred and a Spider mobile.”

“Why were you in a hotel room with Peter?” Natasha said.

“I've heard enough. I'm going to the lab,” Tony stood. “I need JARVIS.”

“You can't talk to him here?” The redhead turned her attention to him.

“I need a quiet place to work. There's a chance JARVIS can help me find Peter.”

“How?”

“Will you let me go and find out?” Tony gave her a look and Clint squeezed her shoulder again.

“Sorry.”

“Maybe Tasha and I should go check out Oscorp downtown again.” He suggested.

“There's nothing there,” Natasha shook her head.

“We don't know that.”

“You didn't find anything earlier, so I doubt it.”

“I'm trying to help you here.”

“I don't need you to,” Natasha rolled her eyes and headed from the room. “I don't need busy work.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out!”

“I can never win,” Clint said when she was gone, causing Bruce and Steve to smile slightly.

“Well I'm gonna go look for Spidey!” Deadpool hopped up. “Hey Hawkeye, wanna come with?”

“I'm going to Oscorp,” Clint, stood, frowning. “Might could use you for a distraction, actually.”

“Don't draw any attention to yourselves,” Steve warned. “We don't want them catching on if they are up to something.”

“Don't worry,” Clint drained some of his own water glass as he stood. “I'll find something to keep Wade busy.”

“Have fun,” Bruce said lightly.

“Yeah, sure.” The acrobatic bowman left, followed by his hyper acquaintance.

“Well I'm off to speak with Fury if I can,” Steve told Bruce.

“I'll try to help Tony - if he'll let me.”

* * *

 

Tony was exhausted. He'd been up for almost thirty hours. He knew Pepper wasn't happy about it, but Peter's life was at stake and he couldn't rest, knowing that the kid might be in serious trouble. He'd set Bruce to testing for traces of various chemicals in the blood sample – narcotics, hallucinogens, anything that might trace back to a company like Oscorp.

He suspected that Romanoff was probably heading to Oscorp to break in and do her own digging. He texted for her to keep her eyes open for anything involving genetics research, feeling ill at the thought of Peter being used for a “human trial.” Naturally, Natasha pretended to have no idea what he was talking about but said that she'd let him know if she found anything 'interesting.'

Pepper happened to be in the hall as he headed to the lab and greeted him with a tight hug. He smiled at her, brushing hair back from her face and they kissed. She walked with him as he headed along.

“JARVIS, I need to talk to you.” he called as they entered the lab.

“You want me to attempt another phone trace, Sir?”

“Nope! New kind of trace we're going to try this time.”

“Uh, what about me?” Pepper mocked.

“What about you?” he whirled around, his tone light, and he settled his hands on her hips as she stepped closer.

“You haven't found anything yet.” Her eyes were sad and it hurt him just to look at them. She'd taken a liking to the youngest Avenger. He lowered his own gaze and she squeezed his shoulder.

“It's not your fault.”

“I know. It doesn't help the fact that we should have put some kind of lead. Forget it. I've got to get to work,” he leaned in and kissed her again. She touched his cheek and nodded. Then she turned to go.

“Have you eaten anything?” she called.

“Uh, yeah. A while ago,” he muttered as he turned away and looked pointedly at a screen. Pepper rolled her eyes as she left the room.

* * *

 

She sent sandwiches down to the lab along with a few bottles of water. He felt like he needed some Coke or Pepsi or something – anything with caffeine, but he knew this was her trying to make him be healthy, so he drank the water as he worked and sent for a latte with four shots of espresso from the Starbucks on the bottom floor. He talked around bites of sandwich.

“So... there's a chance this can work. But we need him to be above ground, right?”

“Correct.”

“Okay. Loading images...” Tony poked at some files, moving them into another file, where JARVIS would take the images he selected and compare them to satellite and surveillance images from around the world. Most of the world, anyway – all the parts that JARVIS could access.

They were pictures of Peter, the ones that Tony picked, from various social functions as well as official ID pictures like his driver's license. Then he used a simple Google search to find pictures of Spiderman. Of course, there would be people out there wearing Spiderman's costume for whatever reason, but JARVIS could limit this significantly by looking for certain markers like location, height, and weight.

Tony would have to help him, though, because JARVIS couldn't necessarily tell the difference between a child and a skinny teenager and so on. Thousands of images were being processed by JARVIS.

* * *

 

Hours passed as he sat before the screen, flicking through videos. Tony and JARVIS limited it to accessible city surveillance videos taken within the last week, while simultaneously searching Youtube and the rest of the net for user uploaded videos. Most of the user uploaded videos were junk – someone who said they saw Spiderman. Some of them were stupid pranks trolling people who clicked on them to see some douche bag dancing around in a Spiderman suit. Tony actually found himself laughing out of exhaustion at one where some kid was dancing in a Spidey suit to the Six Flags music.

“Is this funny?” JARVIS asked.

“Only because I'm tired. And because it's something Pete might actually do.”

Peter jacked up on caffeine mainly. He was still just a kid, after all. Tony's heart ached suddenly as he thought of the younger man, his trusting eyes, his shy smile.

'Focus, jackass,' he told himself.

“Would you like me to search for other videos of Spiderman dancing?”

“No,” Tony snorts. “Please, don't. Let's go back to the surveillance vids.”

Pepper appeared and her brisk entrance caused him to get up off the stool and stretch. She chided him for sitting in a hunched position. Then she chided him for drinking more caffeine, for the candy bar wrappers around, and for not eating much of the sandwiches. He teased her about being a mother hen and she pinched him which made him laugh.

“You need to get some rest,” she pointed at him.

“I can't sleep! Look, we were looking at surveillance vids-”

“Sir. I believe I've found something,” JARVIS intoned.

“Great!” Tony and Pepper both turned to look at the screen. “Show me.”

The video was grainy. It was surveillance from a street lamp, showing a partly lit section of street. Someone or something was crawling down the side of a building in the dark and Tony felt a chill. He forgot how abnormal Spider Man was, how he must look to ordinary people.

The figure stayed still on the wall for a moment, then crawled further down and into the alley.

“What street is that?” Pepper asked.

“One forty second street. Approximately nine forty five pm. January fourth.”

“That's got to be it.” Tony nodded. “Gwen said he didn't show up the next day.”

“Oh my god,” Pepper looked to him. “Do you think we'll find anything there.”

“Maybe.” He didn't sound too optimistic. Then he looked to JARVIS. “Rewind it.”

JARVIS played the clip again and Tony peered closer at the screen.

“Wait!” Both Tony and Pepper spoke at the same time, startling them both. They chuckled nervously as JARVIS paused and replayed the clip.

“You see that?”

“Yeah... yeah I do. JARVIS, take it back further.”

The AI obeyed and began to play the video again. This time, they both stood, silently watching, as someone skipped across the street and into the alleyway, before Spiderman could follow.

“Do you see that? They're wearing something like a coat or-”

“A cape,” Tony rubbed at his chin. “It looks like a cape.”

“Yeah.”

“Green.”

Pepper looked at him. “It can't be the Goblin.”

“Can't it?”

“He's dead.”

They watched for a few moments longer, but after Spiderman entered the alleyway, nothing more occurred.

“JARVIS, conduct a search on images of the Goblin and Norman Osborn.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then see what we can find when it comes to satellite images and surveillance. I've got a hunch.”

 


	6. Experimentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman begins the first phases of his experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Torture, molestation, misgendering, spanking, orgasm control/denial.
> 
> Edit: I effed up. Spidey webbed himself to the wall in this chapter which isn't right because he wouldn't have his web shooters on him, being a prisoner. Herp derp!   
> I fixed it.

Peter awoke in the bed, which was terrifying, because he was almost positive he'd gone to sleep up on the log, leaning back against the wall.

He was relieved to see that he hadn't been restrained and he at least had his clothes on. He shuddered, wondering if they had stayed on all night. His body didn't _feel_ any different.

He got up and used the toilet, washing his hands at the small sink. The toilet room looked older than the atrium, and the walls in it were made with cement block. Peter realized the basement must have been here before Osborn created an atrium out of it.

He made a face as he stepped back into the room. He really needed to take a shower, but the thought of taking his clothes off and the possibility of Osborn seeing his body... Hell no. He wouldn't give the man the opportunity to ogle him.

Heading around the fountain, he saw Osborn on the other side of the glass, working in the medical area and halted.

“Fuck,” he whispered softly. “No. I'm not letting him do this.”

He hurried up the wall and leapt onto one of the logs. Leaping from log to log, he reached the wall over the door and clung to it, then stayed still. If Osborn wanted to inject hormones into him, he would have to do it to Peter's cold, dead body.

He waited for a few minutes, realizing he actually felt a lot better than he had. There was still some dizziness, like after having the flu, but he felt stronger than the last time he'd been awake. He nearly jumped when the door rattled.

“Peter?” he clenched his teeth at the sound of the man's voice, loathing him. “Peter... Wake up now.”

There was silence for a few moments.

“Peter! Wake up! Don't make me come in there.”

More silence followed. Osborn called him a few more times, rattling the door. Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“You need a shower. I've got something for you to eat too.”

'Yeah fucking right,' Peter thought. 'So you can stare at me naked? Fuck that.'

“I'm coming in, Peter.”

The younger man sneered at the warning tone as the doors opened. He watched as Osborn tentatively peeked into the room, but didn't think to look up. Peter saw that he was holding the remote in one hand and a tray of food in the other.

He leaped down, taking the man by surprise and knocking the tray of food into his face, then snatching the remote from his hand. Peter bolted up the wall again. 

He laughed as Norman turned to face him and cursed.

“Give that back.”

“I don't think so.”

“Come on, Peter. Don't make me punish you.”

“Oh you mean punish me by injecting shit into my body? Pfft. Go to hell."

“It's just a blocker today, Peter,” Norman smiled a little.

“Yeah, so you can turn me into a woman? Fuck that. Now you either tell me how to get through that door, or I _break_ your head _and_ the door.

Norman just continued to smile. 

“Peter... we both know violence isn't your thing.”

“Fine,” Peter shrugged and snapped the remote in half, then threw the pieces as hard as he could at Osborne's head. The man dodged them, chuckling.

“You know, we're still evenly matched. Except that I've got some tricks up my sleeve.” Osborn smiled. “Honestly, I was almost _hoping_  you'd misbehave.”

He pulled something else from a coat pocket and jerked his hand forward. Peter leaped from the wall a second before something slammed into it. Landing on a log, he glanced over to the wall and his eyes widened as he saw the dart there, emitting sparks. An electric dart gun. 

His spider senses screamed at him and he leaped again. Another dart barely missed him, hitting the log instead as he jumped to another. He ran along that log and climbed up the wall. Norman laughed.

“You can't run from me forever, Peter. You'll wear yourself out. All I have to do is shoot!” He fired again and Peter leaped back down to a log. Another shot whizzed by his ear and he jumped up to a higher log.

He yelled as something hit his left shin and he stumbled, limbs jerking as he fell from the log. Peter's arms spun, one arm reaching out in vain to grab on to something.

He hit the floor. It hurt, but not as much as the shocks going through his body.

Peter tasted blood in his mouth as he heard Norman walking over and chuckling. He'd bitten his tongue.

“Peter. _So_ stubborn. This is so unnecessary.”

It wasn't Norman's usual voice; there was a sharper edge to it. Peter tried to move away, recognizing the Goblin, but his limbs continued to jerk uncooperatively.

He felt himself rolled over and his arms pulled behind his back. His wrists were manacled and then he was hauled up by his shoulders and dragged backward. Norman deposited him on the couch before returning with a tray.

“Now maybe you'll let me do what I need to.” Reaching over, Norman yanked out the dart. Peter groaned, his body still trembling from it. Sweat was trickling down from his forehead.

Norman set the tray down on the couch near Peter's head. “I even made you a nice breakfast. But you're going to be punished for being such a bad boy.”

He yanked the sweater up, scowling.

“I'm going to have to ruin this sweater to get it off of you.” Norman ripped it clean in half, grabbing the sleeves to tear them off as well. “Oh well. I guess we'll have to get you another one. Since you stink, it's just as well anyway.” He tossed it aside, then ripped the shirt from Peter's body. With a smirk, he slid Peter's pants and boxers down.

The younger man struggled and Norman laughed.

“Don't worry. I'm not going to take you _yet_.” His fingers slid down over the plane of Peter's stomach.

“Don't. Touch me,” he choked out.

“Hush. Time for you to take your bath.” He grabbed Peter by the shoulder and forced him, stumbling over to the shower. Peter's whole body ached and he cried out when Osborn just turned the water on at first – it was freezing cold. He tried to stumble away from it, but there were several jets in the shower. Osborn sneered at him as he adjusted the water so that it was warmer.

“I should make you take a cold shower, but I don't want you to get sick.”

He removed his labcoat and shirt, setting them aside. Leaving his pants and shoes on, he stepped into the shower and grabbed Peter, who was leaning against the wall. The boy jerked as he was grabbed, trying to squirm away from Norman. His skin was still quivering and twitching from the shocks. 

“Shh... we're just going to lather you up-”

“No!” Peter shuddered in his grasp.

“Stay still, you idiot.” The older man growled, then grabbed a bar of soap and began to run it over Peter's chest and stomach. He continued to shudder, his eyes closed. Norman sighed as he moved the bar down over his belly, admiring the slight muscle there, the collar bones, the smooth lines of Peter's face, his dark lashes. He pictured the body he would soon be holding – a pair of budding little breasts, curving hips, softer, fuller thighs.

“Shh,” he moved his hands over Peter, turning him around harshly so that he could lather his back. With a smirk, he slid one soapy hand down between Peter's buttocks, causing him to tense and arch away.

“Stop!”

“No, you listen to _me_ ,” Norman jerked him hard by the arm, his fingers pressing into it. “I don't give a damn if you don't like it. Do you understand me?” His other hand grasped Peter's hair and pulled his head back, causing him to gasp. “You're mine now. You'll do as I say. I'll touch you _all I like_.”

He slid the hand from Peter's hair down his neck, over his shoulder, down over his chest. Peter let out a soft sob as Norman tugged on a nipple curiously.

“Mine,” Norman growled against his ear, brushing his lips over it. A groan of disgust escaped Peter's lips and he tried to lean away.

Smirking, Norman pressed Peter against the wall of the shower, causing him to hiss at the cold glass. He slid his fingers over the other nipple, picturing the breast more full and softer. What it would be like to just press her against this wall and spread her thighs, to take her all he liked and fill her with himself. He looked forward to the thought of Peter's eyes gazing at him as he took her.

His actions caught up with him and Norman cursed himself. Establishing trust. Moving cautiously. That had been his goal and now... It was just that the boy was so damn infuriating.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” he cleared his throat.

He lathered Peter's body, taking his time, chuckling when he saw that Peter was growing hard. He reached down to stroke the tip of his cock.

“Please,” Peter begged. “Please stop.”

“Shh,” Norman tried to steady his own breathing. Ugh, he was getting excited himself. Peter fighting him and then submitting like this got him every time. Especially the way he trembled against the wall now. Norman's hand fisted around Peter's cock, making him gasp.

“No!”

“Shut up,” Norman growled, pumping his fist. Peter shuddered, his legs trembling. Norman leaned in and began to press kisses against his neck, mouthing up to his earlobe. Peter's chest rose and fell quickly as his breaths became shallow.

Norman nipped at his shoulders, kissing down over his chest. The younger man tried to arch away as seeking lips connected with a nipple. Norman sucked at it, then teased down over the ribs. His fist moved faster still, lathered and slippery.

“Stop...”

“I told you to shut up,” Norman whispered, moving his mouth over Parker's and biting his lower lip, sucking at it. “You've been bad today.”

It was the bite to Peter's neck that did it. He groaned and his hips began to thrust involuntarily.

“Mm, sensitive neck, hm?” Norman smiled against his ear. “Good boy.”

Peter shook his head, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Oh, quit crying Parker. It's obvious you're enjoying this!”

Peter cursed under his breath.

“What was that? You need to watch that mouth of yours...” Norman growled, admiring his lips again, swollen from pleasure and biting. “Maybe I should wash it out for you, hm?”

He continued working his fist until Peter's body began to tighten and he closed his blue eyes tightly. Then he pulled away, releasing the younger man's cock.

Peter gasped, hips thrusting still, then groaned and cursed.

“Would you like to finish? Tell me.”

Peter's eyes were cold as they finally looked up at him. His lips were trembling but his gaze was solidly filled with hate and a tiny measure of hurt.

Norman sighed.

“Come on. Tell me what-”

Peter looked away, shaking his head. His lips were trembling. 

He waited, feeling fairly patient, a smirk spreading over his lips. His pants were wet and he was achingly hard, but he didn't mind waiting. It was tempting to force Peter to his knees and make him take care of his hard on, but he couldn't risk the stupid boy biting him. After a few minutes of silence, his fingers sliding teasingly up and down Peter's stomach, he rinsed his captive off and pushed him out of the shower.

Peter shivered as Norman toweled him off. The young man avoided looking at him, his expression dazed.

“I've treated you well. I even touch you, please you, and you're ungrateful.” Grabbing an arm, he hauled Peter toward the bed and shoved him down onto it.

The younger man trembled and tried to get up on his knees, but Norman grabbed him by the hair, making him wince, and sat on the bed, hauling Peter over his lap.

“No! Stop!” His words cut off in a cry as Norman's palm came down on his bare ass.

“You keep forgetting that word means nothing to me, Peter." 

Peter whined in his throat as he was struck, trying to remain silent. Norman licked his lips and laughed as he watched the skin grow more red. It was wonderfully pale, showing the marks he left brightly, and it had a lovely elasticity to it, shaking with each strike.

Peter let out a sob as the older man slowed down.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Norman settled his hand on the red flesh, sliding his palm over it. He merely received a hiss in reply.

Norman struck again, hard.

“Ahh! Yes.” Peter forced himself to nod.

“Look at me.”

Peter turned his head to look up at him and Norman relished the sight of his teary eyes and the fear in them.

“I want you to apologize for how you've been acting, Peter.”

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

“Sir.”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“Are you going to be my good boy?”

“Y-yes.” Peter nodded weakly.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” Norman hummed as he ran his fingers through Peter's bangs. The younger man looked back down after a moment. “All right. I think we can let you up now.”

He had to help Peter up and support him.

“Get on the bed. Lie on your stomach.”

Peter kneeled on the bed, trembling and glanced up at him. Norman smiled at seeing that he could barely make eye contact.

“Go on. I just have one more thing I need to do. Then I'll let you eat and rest.”

Peter slowly lie on his stomach, his face turned to the side. He watched Norman as the older man headed to the medical area to grab the other tray. When he returned, Peter's eyes were unfocused, looking at the shower. Then the blue eyes looked up at Norman and he sucked in a tight breath. They were such beautiful eyes.

He smiled as he swabbed alcohol over Peter's thigh. The boy's face crumpled up, his eyes closing tightly.

“Please, don't.”

“What did I tell you, Peter? I want you to be quiet now.”

Norman watched his back rising in shallow breaths.

“Try to relax,” Osborn set a hand on the back of his thigh, then pushed the needle in. Peter shuddered as he felt the contents begin to enter his body and groaned into the bed.

“There now,” Norman wiped off the spot and set the needle aside. “That wasn't so bad.”

Peter's sobs turned to harsh breaths and Norman saw that he was glaring at him.

“I'm going to kill you,” he raged. “I'm going to _kill_ you for this.”

“Would you like me to make it so that you can't sit down for a week?”

Peter glared silently as Norman gathered the tray and rose, leaving him alone on the bed.

“You can wear those cuffs a little longer, I think,” he stopped by the couch and gathered up Peter's clothes. “Have fun eating without your hands. Maybe it'll remind you to behave. Oh and when you do,” Norman laughed. “I'll see about getting you some new clothes too.”

Peter said nothing. As Norman left, he lie shivering against the bed, closing his eyes and waiting to feel the effects.

 

* * *

 

When Norman next stepped into the room, an hour had passed. Parker hadn't touched the food, which he imagined meant the boy had fallen asleep. He couldn't leave the cuffs on Peter too long, so he headed back up to the small apartment in the main building intending to come back and check again later. Peter was probably just sulking.

He'd had to take care of himself after leaving Parker. It was amazing how just having Spider Man at his mercy and knowing his plans were following through drove him to the edge. He pictured Peter in bed with him, sucking his cock obediently, those big blue eyes looking up at him. Peter with a softer jaw, like those transgender women he'd seen in pictures. He liked to picture Parker's hair longer, falling around his face.

Now he found himself thinking of possible names for his soon-to-be lady. He entertained the idea of spider related names. Arachne? No, too silly. Anansi? Though Anansi was a male spider god - wasn't he? Norman couldn't remember. Nansi... Nancy? No. 

Ana, maybe?

He chuckled. “Ana,” he said softly. It did have a nice sound to it and it was completely removed from Peter Parker.

He smiled, flicking through Peter's phone again. He frowned at a picture of Gwen. Then he flicked over to a picture of Peter and back to the picture of Gwen. He compared the secondary sex characteristics. It wasn't just facial hair, or even the jaw and brow. Gwen wore a little makeup and of course, women's clothes were different. He smiled at the thought of buying feminine clothes for Peter... Ana to wear.

“Ana,” he laughed. “Mrs Ana Osborn.”

 


	7. Reconaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Clint, and Wade investigate Osborn's headquarters for any clues. Meanwhile, Peter tries to find a way to get a message out to someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice long update since you guys had to wait so long! Thanks for the comments! I'm glad to know people are looking forward to updates :)

**Natasha**

 

She was annoyed when Clint pursued her again, offering once more to go to Oscorp headquarters with her. Especially with fucking _Deadpool_ tagging along.

Stark had informed the group what he and Pepper saw, showing them the video.

“Just because it's a green cape doesn't mean it's the Goblin,” she grumbled. “It could be _anyone_ wearing a green cape.”

“Oh for...” Stark grumbled. “We _might as well_ start with Osborn.”

“Osborn is dead.”

“There's also his son.”

“Why would his son have anything to do with this?”

“He knew Peter,” Bruce pointed out. “They were... close at one point. Peter told me he was worried that Harry was following in his father's footsteps.”

“You see?” Stark lifted his brows. “We should at least keep tabs on him.”

“We can conduct surveillance on Osborn Jr,” Steve agreed. “But there _are_ other people who wear green capes.”

Natasha sighed.

“Fine. I'll go to Oscorp and keep an eye on the kid.”

“The kid? You know he's acting CEO, right?”

“He's still a kid.”

“You gonna go dressed like that?” Tony mocked.

She lifted a brow and stared at him. “I'm not going to walk up and introduce myself.”

“I just think it might look a bit suspicious if a woman in all black leather shows up on surveillance feed.”

“Should I wear a flying suit instead?”

Tony grinned.

“I'll go with you,” Clint volunteered.

“I didn't ask,” Natasha pointed out.

“I'm going with you anyway.”

Natasha sighed. “Fine.”

 

Oscorp headquarters in New York was an impressive edifice. Not as impressive as Stark towers, but more... Natasha wasn't sure how to describe it. Dour. Maybe even menacing. Perhaps it was the shape of the windows – honeycombed like some kind of creepy hive.

It turned out that Oscorp was holding some kind of public event in one of the large conference rooms of the building's bottom floor, so she and Clint dressed for business and wore 'Stark Enterprises' tags with false names. Tables were scattered here and there, guests seated at a few. There was a long table of refreshments along the side of the room. Clint insisted on stopping by to get drinks. 

“Should we introduce ourselves?” Natasha frowned over her cup of iced tea. 

“God, I hope not,” Clint admitted. “I think we can just hang back, really.” He glanced around, eyeing the other people present. Natasha, meanwhile, kept her eyes on Harry Osborn who was standing on a dais at the far end of the room. He didn't look well in her opinion – there were shadows under his eyes and he looked pale, as if he wasn't getting out much or sleeping. He turned to glance in her direction and seemed to spot her. She forced a smile to her face before turning to blather at Clint about how uncomfortable her heels were. He looked confused for a moment before catching on and nodding. When Natasha glanced back, Osborn was smirking and looking away.

“He looks like he's coming unhinged,” she noted.

“Yeah. Something's not right in little Harry's life.”

“Too bad. I'm about to find out what it is.”

“Be careful.”

She rolled her eyes and set the stupid cup down.

“This event sucks,” Clint said. “Think I should invite Wade? Make it more interesting?”

She laughed. “Sounds like a plan.” Winking at him, she began to head from the meeting room, pretending to go to the ladies' room.

He gave her about fifteen minutes and Harry was in the middle of a speech when he texted Deadpool.

 

“Remember asshole: Controlled chaos. Think you can manage that?”

“No worries, Hawkeye”

 

Natasha was on the third floor by then, pretending to 'deliver a memo' to 'Mr Osborn's office.' It was amazing how men would just go along with whatever you said when you had a pencil skirt on and acted like you were supposed to be somewhere. She'd had to ditch the Stark name tag, of course. 

Then she snatched a security keycard off of someone which involved bumping into them and knocking their coffee over. After profuse apologies, she was in the elevator, headed up to the top floor.

J.A.R.V.I.S had already debriefed her on which projects were located in which laboratories but that wasn't what she was interested in. If Osborn junior had Spider Man in his clutches, she highly doubted he would be stupid enough to hold him in the middle of Oscorp's headquarters.

Harry's office was futuristic and probably meant to be breathtaking but after living in Stark Tower, Natasha was used to seeing luxury. There wasn't much in terms of decoration. She spotted a desk with a dark glass surface that likely functioned as a screen and decided to investigate. Moving around behind the desk, she spotted a small panel beside the glass surface and opened it, revealing several USB docks. Taking the drive she carried from her jacket pocket – a small preloaded version of JARVIS onboard – she pressed it into one of the docks.

When alarms didn't go off, she relaxed into the chair behind the desk and watched while J.A.R.V.I.S overrided security measures and began to search. Images and files appeared on the screen, flashing quickly from one to the next as if someone was scrolling through the system.

“Curious,” she heard him say. “It appears that some of the biocable spiders have been moved from this facility.”

“That is curious,” she agreed. “Does it say where they were moved to?”

“They have been relocated to a newly constructed facility...”

 

By the time she was back in the lobby, everything was in chaos. People were leaving in small groups and she wore a perplexed expression while inwardly wanting to laugh. She could already hear Wade making a racket. She nearly lost her composure when she saw what he was doing.

“Happy Birthday, Mister Presideeent!” Wade was in the lap of a very alarmed Harry Osborn who was trying to push him off. The mercenary had a katana aimed at one of the security guards shouting at him. Now the room was nearly empty.

“Oh my god!” she gasped. Clint grabbed her arm and guided her from the room as if being protective. “What's going on?”

“Some crazy guy,” he shook his head and they hurried from the room.

Worried onlookers stood in the lobby whispering among themselves.

“All right, everybody! Outside, please!” a security guard was attempting to herd the attendees outside.

“I didn't mean for him to turn it into an emergency,” Natasha mused when they were outside, across the street.

“I say distraction, he hears destruction.”

Natasha smiled. “No. I hate to say it, but I think he had my idea before I did.” She shook her head and sighed.

“What?” Clint looked at her puzzled.

Wade came flying out of a second floor window, causing them both to glance at eachother in surprise. He landed on the top of a Mercedes Benz as it was pulling out of the parking deck across the street.

The driver slammed on the breaks and he tumbled off.

“Good job,” Clint said as he slammed into the concrete. Wade hopped up.

“Tis a flesh wound!” he sang and brushed past them, running from the SWAT team that had arrived.

A bomb or perhaps a grenade went off on the second floor and there were screams as people ducked.

 

“Tasha asked Did you get the phone?” Clint texted a few minutes later.

“Got a brand new iPad! :) ” Wade replied.

 

* * *

 

Peter woke at a prodding and frowned. He turned his head to look up at the man prodding him; Osborn wasn't wearing the labcoat this time, but a simple dark shirt.

Oh great, he was still in his own personal hell.

He grumbled and curled back up. Hard as it was to believe, he'd dozed off, feeling dizzy after the injection. Peter had rolled onto his side sometime while he was asleep and he shivered.

“Cold, hm? Well you'd better behave and get up and eat. Then maybe I'll give you some clothes.”

Peter blinked and merely looked up at him stonily. Then he hauled himself up into a sitting position and scooted to the edge of the bed. He rolled his shoulders, wincing. He felt groggy after the brief nap and his stomach was unsettled.

“I'll take the cuffs off as soon as you get some food in your mouth.”

Peter nodded but said nothing.

“You don't have to be completely quiet,” Osborn chuckled. Peter's teeth clenched but he said nothing. His stomach was hurting slightly but that was probably from the shocking earlier and hitting the floor. His whole body ached if he was being honest with himself. He gave himself a cursory glance for bruises, but then he could heal pretty quickly. There were some along his arms and legs but they seemed to be fading already.

“Thirsty?” A glass of water was held up in front of Peter's lips and he glowered up at his captor. Then he nodded. The glass was pressed to his lips, then tilted so that he could drink. Peter took a deep drink of the water, relieved upon realizing how dry his mouth had become.

“There we go. Now I want you to eat too...”

Norman picked up a plastic fork and scooped up some of the meat on the plate he'd brought earlier. It had gone a bit cold, but it should still be good, he reasoned. He held the fork out to Peter who just looked at him coldly, then glanced at the fork and back.

“Open your mouth, Parker. Don't be an idiot.”

Peter made a soft exhale of air through his nose and opened his mouth, letting Osborn feed him. Norman watched him eat with amusement, enjoying the blush spreading over Peter's cheeks. The younger man kept eating for a few minutes, his eyes lowered to the floor.

“Good boy,” he murmured as he used the fork to scoop up a little bit of mashed potato that had slipped from Peter's lip to his chin. He pressed the fork against Peter's lips and the younger man rolled his eyes before opening his mouth and cleaning the fork tines off. Norman sucked air in through his teeth quietly at the sight. He wanted to press his lips to Peter's and taste them again, but he didn't want to rile the boy up more than he already had for the night.

“Very good.” Norman set the plate and fork down finally and Peter looked relieved. He chuckled and moved closer to his pet, who tensed and turned his head away.

“I kind of like having you like this,” He set a hand on Peter's thigh and the boy's teeth clenched. Norman's fingers slid up and down the prickling skin of Peter's leg. His other hand moved up behind Peter's back, sliding up between his shoulders to massage his neck.

Peter's lips looked about to move, but he said nothing, his eyes on the floor. Norman sighed and moved the hand from his thigh, trailing a finger up his ribs and over his nipple. He just couldn't keep his hands off the boy now it seemed. He was too pretty.

“Shh,” he whispered, massaging Peter's shoulders. His lips parted in a soundless gasp and then closed again. He was very tense. Norman massaged firmly, causing the boy to gasp again, his eyes closing tightly.

“Does it hurt?”

Peter nodded after a moment.

“Here,” Norman moved his hands to unlatch the cuffs, even though he really wanted to just press Peter down onto the bed and run his hands all over the lean body. Especially his hips and belly. Something about the slender waist and the hollows by his groin was very tempting.

Peter winced, bringing his arms out beside him, then in front of him to stretch. He moved slowly, however, as if afraid to startle Norman, which the older man found pleasing. Good. Parker was going to watch himself now.

He returned his hands to Peter's shoulders, watching as the younger man covered his groin with his hands and chuckling.

“Don't worry, Peter. I won't touch you again tonight.”

_Tonight._ Peter's jaw tightened and his eyes settled on the fork nearby. How much force would it take to stab Norman in the neck with it? Would the tines break against his skin?

It made Peter sick to even though about stabbing someone, but he was getting desperate. The very thought of what had happened earlier made his muscles tense.

“I know you're angry. But you'll get used to it. I'll try to make it good for both of us.”

“You're going to mutilate me,” Peter said quietly. “Are... are you going to do it yourself?” He blinked, glancing toward Norman but not meeting his eyes. “Do you even know anything about surgery?”

Norman scoffed.

“What? No. Of course not. I'll have someone else do it.”

Peter froze and stared at him.

“In fact, I've already found someone willing to travel.”

Peter scoffed softly and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“How could you do this.” It was murmured, as if the younger man was too tired to inflect any emotion into it.

“I can do whatever I like,” Norman moved his hands to rub down Peter's upper arms. “You seem to keep forgetting I'm the one in control here. You are mine now, Peter,” one of his hands grasped the back of his neck tightly and Peter hissed. “Your body is _my property_. Really, you've always been my property. Ever since that spider bit you.”

“Gee, that makes _loads_ of sense.”

“It really does. That spider had my formula in it. You have me to thank for your wonderful abilities. But you insist on being so ungrateful.” He tsked.

Norman massaged his neck once, then released it. He finally stood with a sigh, taking up the plate with him.

“I'm going to give you some reading material over the next few days to help you figure out what I expect of you.”

Peter shook his head, scoffing. His eyes gleamed up at Norman.

“Don't look at me that way. It won't be as bad as you think. And stop acting so damn spoiled.” Norman scoffed as he headed toward the door. “I'm beginning to lose patience with you again.”

Peter watched him go, tempted to throw something at him. But he really didn't want another shocking session. So he waited until Norman left, then crawled onto the bed and pulled the covers over himself, wrapping himself up in them. It took longer for him to fall asleep this time, shivering despite the blankets and watching the door, paranoid that Osborn would return.

 

* * *

 

It was cold in the bed. Even though he knew there was some kind of heating system for the room and he could hear it, he was still cold. The lights had been dimmed for another 'night time.' Peter couldn't stand it – he had no idea what time it really was outside and that was the most disturbing thing other than the fact that some weird chemical was flowing through his body. He couldn't think about the latter or he'd go crazy. He remembered Osborn mentioning 'tonight' so maybe it really was night time.

When he next woke, it was with a dry mouth and he felt sick, nauseated. He shuddered, thinking of pregnancy and morning sickness. He wasn't sure if it was possible for Norman to pull off such a thing, but he wouldn't put it past the man to try.

That's what he was planning after all. _Creating a channel_ first. Ugh.

Peter looked down at his own groin and felt a slow panic rising inside of him. Surgery. His body being modified against his will. All so that Norman could...

He felt dizzy just trying to sit up and ended up lying on his side again.

“Oh sweetheart,” Norman called. “It's me.”

The lights in the room came up slowly.

There was something darker in his voice this time that caused Peter to sit up, despite the protest of his head and stomach. He shuddered as he saw Norman walking up to the bed, remote out in his hand. He gazed at the remote for a moment, then looked at what he held in his other hand. It looked like some kind of touch screen. Norman held it out to him and he slowly reached up to take it.

It was a Nook. Peter stared at it quietly. He'd gotten his Aunt May one for Christmas once which turned out to be funny because she didn't really like it but she wouldn't admit that she preferred just reading books the old fashioned way.

“I've got a lot of books on there. Some of them, I'd specifically like you to read – books to help you transition.”

Peter glared up at him. He shook his head but didn't say anything, dropping the Nook to the bed and looking aside.

“Don't fight me, Peter.”

The younger man licked his lips. “Can I have a toothbrush?”

“Sure.” Norman chuckled. “As long as you don't file it into a weapon or anything like that.”

Peter closed his eyes and turned to lie down again, pulling the covers tightly over him.

“Are you feeling bad?”

“I feel like shit.”

“How? Nausea?”

“Yes.” Peter's answers were short and clipped. He wanted Norman to fuck off.

“Well, that sounds like a symptom. It won't last too long, or it shouldn't.” Peter kept his eyes closed and waited, listening, until he heard Norman's footsteps heading away. “I'll bring you something to eat in a little while.”

He peeked after a few minutes and the man was gone.

He really wanted to ask for some coffee, but he doubted the man would give him anything stimulating. Peter sighed and curled up again, pulling the covers over himself and grabbing the Nook. He began to flip through the titles, brows rising at some of them – books about physics, medicine, bioengineering... He began to read a text on the possibility of using cells to grow actual organs when he heard Norman's footsteps and sat up, wrapping the covers around him.

“Here we go,” Norman smiled as he set a tray on the bed. Peter's stomach rumbled but he felt nauseated at the very sight of food. There was OJ, eggs, and some toast. Peter frowned.

“Can I have some tea? It's cold in here.”

“I can get you some tea,” Osborn nodded. “I'll turn the heat up in here.”

The younger man gritted his teeth and quietly looked down at the tray. Honestly he was just avoiding giving Peter clothes. It was bullshit.

“Have you been reading?”

“Yeah.”

He waited with growing annoyance as Norman watched him quietly.

“Well, go ahead and eat. I'll bring you some tea.”

He could have sworn the man's voice held a little more irritation. Peter smirked as he watched the scientist walk away, flipping him off. He felt like kicking the tray off the bed, but he was actually a little hungry, so he grabbed the OJ and sniffed it before taking a sip. It tasted like normal juice but he didn't put anything past Osborn. He nibbled on the toast, eyeing the eggs but not feeling quite up to eating them.

Osborn returned with a mug about fifteen minutes later. Peter had begun eating the eggs slowly.

“Feeling better?”

Peter nodded, his eyes on the bed. He kept glancing warily up at the scientist, but never kept his eyes on Norman's for long. There was something incredibly unnerving about the man's gaze and Peter felt irritated by it. His irritation spiked when Norman picked up the tray and set it on the floor so that he could sit in its place on the bed, offering the mug to Peter.

Peter handed back his fork which Osborn tossed onto the tray, and took the mug from him.

“Careful. It's hot.”

Peter took the proffered handle and lifted it to smell. Earl Grey. So he was going to have caffeine after all. He sipped it slowly, relishing the taste. It made him feel like he was back home at Aunt May's, listening to her talk on a lazy Sunday morning as they drank-

The tears were sudden and he didn't understand where they came from. He turned his head away, blushing.

“Peter?”

“I..”

“It's all right,” Osborn rubbed his shoulder and he clenched his teeth, wanting to just splash the hot tea in the man's fucking face and then run. But where would he run to? He was still dizzy. Osborn would shock the shit out of him before he got anywhere.

“Can I,” he sniffed suddenly, blinking to look at Osborn. “Can I write Aunt May a message? Just to let her know I'm alive?”

Osborn frowned and shook his head slowly.

“Please. You could just leave it somewhere for her to find. I just want her to know I'm okay. Please.”

Osborn sighed, glancing at the tray on the floor.

“Well... what would you be willing to do in order to send that message, Peter?”

“You've got to be kidding me,” he said softly.

“I've been very nice to you, Peter. You should be a little more grateful.”

'I swear to God,' Peter thought. 'If he says that _one more fucking time_...'

He met Osborn's gaze after a few moments. The man's face was quietly smug, but Peter could tell that if he didn't step carefully, he could end up in deep shit.

“What would you want me to do?”

“Why don't you start by having a better attitude?”

Peter nodded, his eyes on the floor. He was a little relieved actually. He'd been expecting Osborn to ask for... _ugh_ , sexual favors.

“I don't understand how you're going to make it possible for me to... carry a child.”

Norman smiled.

“Well, there's a book in there about growing organs from cells.” Peter nodded.

“I was reading it.”

“Good! Good,” Osborn looked pleased. “It's complicated, but I have access to the very best, Peter. The best minds, the best talent. I've been communicating with a doctor from Japan. He's very curious to see what we can do for you.”

For you. The words made Peter want to shout and throw the fucking mug after all. He blinked away, glaring at the opposite wall.

“Wow,” was all he said.

“Yes. We've been discussing how to about it. Of course, I already harvested a blood sample while you were out.”

'Of course,' Peter thought, rolling his eyes with his head still turned away. 'Why would you ask?'

“I'd probably need a sample of organ tissue as well.”

Peter's stomach clenched and he coughed, holding the tea away so it wouldn't spill. Norman sat up as if puzzled and took the tea carefully from him. Peter groaned and stumbled from the bed, trying to take the blanket with him.

“Peter?”

He wrapped himself in the top cover, coughing, and stumbled off the bed, to the small bathroom where he began to gag over the toilet.

The blanket had slid down over his back, baring his shoulders. He shuddered as he spat into the toilet, back aching when he was finished. Then he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand when Osborn offered some tissue paper.

Grabbing it, Peter thanked him on reflex and wiped his mouth. Then he tossed the paper in and flushed the toilet.

Osborn watched him wash up at the sink.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” Peter shook his head, looking up into the mirror. “I feel dizzy.”

“That's expected. You might have something close to morning sickness. But it should pass.”

Peter gripped the edge of the sink, wanting to shout again, but swallowing it. He felt ashamed suddenly. Tony would never tolerate this. Neither would Bruce or Thor. They would fight back probably. Natasha definitely would have slipped out of here by now.

“Can I write my letter?” he looked at Osborn in the mirror.

The man stared at him for a moment.

“Sure.” He turned and left the room. Peter watched him go, rinsing out his mouth and then heading over to sit on the bed.

“I'll get you a toothbrush too. Some mouthwash.” Norman said when he returned with a writing pad and a pen. “I don't think I need to warn you about writing anything...”

“I got it.” Peter met his eyes this time, his expression blank. Osborn sighed and then smiled at him a little and headed from the room.

“I'll bring you something else to eat later when your stomach's settled.”

“Okay.”

He waited until Osborn left and cursed again, shaking his head. His hand trembled as he moved to write.

 

He ended up ripping several pages out and crumpling them up, throwing them at the wall.

Honestly, what was he _supposed_ to write? It had seemed like a good idea at the time – at least letting her know he was alive. But he realized it would probably just torment her even more, knowing he was alive but not knowing what might be happening to him. He would have to lie.

“Aunt May,” he finally wrote.

“I'm okay. I'm sorry for making you worry like this. I hope you're all right.

I can't tell you where I am. But I want you to know that I'm safe and everything is fine.”

It was almost too much as he sat looking at the words. But to write anything other than 'everything is fine' meant she would never get a letter. As it was, he couldn't even be completely certain that Osborn would keep his word. He certainly hadn't kept it about not touching Peter.

His throat tightened at the thought and he shuddered. Fingers shaking, he moved to finish.

“I miss you. I'll see you soon.”

He had to take a deep breath and lean his head back as he blinked against the moisture in his eyes.

That was when he got the idea to try something Natasha had told him about once. It was dangerous and there was the chance of pissing off Osborn, but he decided that if it got through, it would be worth it. Swallowing his nervousness, he moved his pen quickly over the letter. When he was satisfied with the results, he signed it:

“Love, Peter.”

He waited, listening, as Osborn called for him and entered the room.

“I'm back, Peter. I've got your toothbrush and some other things. I want you to take another shower. I promise not to watch this time,” he sounded amused as he reached the tent. Peter swallowed when he paused, glancing at the papers thrown around.

“You should clean up this mess. I expect you to clean up after yourself. I'm not your maid.”

Peter nodded. He held out his letter and watched as Osborn dropped a bag on the bed and looked over it. Peter tried to calm his nerves by grabbing the bag and pretending to look in it. The seconds seemed to tick by slower and he closed his eyes, mentally cursing at himself. Osborn wasn't stupid – he was going to notice something was off and then Peter was going to be in deep-

“All right,” the man sounded pleased and Peter looked up, trying not to let his surprise show. “Sounds good. You should have written that you're laying low, but that's fine,” he smiled. “The less you write actually, the better. I'll deliver this to her.”

“Thank you.”

Norman smiled at him. Peter tensed when he reached forward and touched his cheek with a hand. It made his stomach drop down into his body and he swallowed again as the fingers slid down under his chin.

“I don't want you to feel bad,” Osborn told him before stepping up and tucking the notepad under his arm. Peter had to fight the urge to laugh in distaste.

_Oh get the fuck out of here_.

He lowered his eyes to the bag on the bed, hearing Osborn chuckle. He probably just thought Peter was shy, the asshole. He kept his eyes down until the man turned to walk away.

“Go ahead and read the rest of that book. And read some of the ones on transitioning. You'll feel better after you understand what's going on.”

“Yeah right,” Peter muttered when he was gone.

He shoved the bag with the toothbrush and things off the bed with his foot, relishing the sight of it scattering all over the floor.

Then he lie back for a while and stretched. He would clean up and take a shower, but only because he wanted Osborn to think he was complying. Then he would figure out how to get the hell out of here. Hopefully his letter would be delivered and Aunt May would spot his odd 'punctuation'. She read a lot of mystery novels, so he was sure she would. He smiled as he pictured her reading the letter and noticing the marks he'd made. But he knew she would mostly be worried.

He felt grim satisfaction at the thought of stabbing Osborn in the eye with a sharpened toothbrush. He couldn't do it since the man was aware of it and would probably be checking, but it gave him another idea.  


	8. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is faced with a suspicious Black Widow while Peter puts a plan for escape together.

When Natasha finally had the iPad it was already sticky from burrito drippings.

“Ugh, really? I guess you can already tell us what's in it,” she made a face as she used a fingernail to push some of the crusted refried beans off.

“Well, that'll cost ya, babe,” Wade flopped down in one of the chairs of the meeting room at Stark, nay Avengers, Tower. Natasha had already explained about what she'd found on the interesting new 'research' center being built in Upstate New York.

“Ah, no,” Clint said. “Good try. But no.”

Natasha smirked and shook her head, sliding the iPad to Tony who began to look through it immediately.

“Find anything?” he looked to Wade, who shrugged.

“Looks like he's been making some calls from it.”

“Oh?”

Wade shrugged. Tony was eyeing something.

“Well that's interesting.” His dark eyes met the merc's, who grinned. “You were right.”

“Aww ye-es,” Deadpool threw his hands up in the air and bounced his shoulders like he was at a house party. Everyone else frowned.

“Right about what?” Steve asked.

“Looks like Daddy Osborn might be alive after all,” Tony's lip curled, as if the prospect gave him the creeps.

Suddenly Natasha was on her feet and a gun was pointing at Wade.

“How did you know?”

Tony looked up in mild surprise then went back to looking through the iPad. Clint sighed.

“Tasha-”

“No. He _knew_ somehow. I asked him earlier and he gave some bullshit answer about 'Deadpool senses.' He's _part_ of this. You know he is.”

“Muahaha! Yes. You found out my e-e-evil plan to kidnap ze Spider Man!” Wade pretended to pet a cat in his lap. Steve rolled his eyes at the merc.

“Natasha-”

“No! I can't believe you're all just _trusting_ him like this.”

“He did get Osborn's iPad.” Clint pointed out quietly.

Natasha lowered her gun and slowly sat, but her eyes remained locked on Wade. He sighed exaggeratedly.

“Can you show us?” Steve looked to Tony who nodded and began to connect the iPad wirelessly to a screen on the wall. They all turned to look.

“He's been talking to _someone_ ,” Tony rubbed at his chin. “Number is scrambled. But JARVIS can crack it in no time.” 

“Good,” Steve's eyes lit up. “Maybe we can find something.” He looked to Clint and Natasha, then Wade. “Anything else?” 

“I didn't find anything,” Natasha said quietly, her eyes still on Wade. The merc rolled his eyes and tutted.

“Like _anybody_ keeps _anything_ in their office anymore.” He winked at her. “Did you search behind the book case?” 

“I'm watching you.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Let's go the practice room and you can watch me on the firepole.”

Clint barked a laugh before covering his lips. Natasha turned her glare to him.

“Working on it,” Tony's eyes were moving between the screen on the wall and the iPad. He spoke to his communicator. “Hey JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I have something I want you to look at. Upload the temporary files from Osborne's personal device. I need you to figure out what the area code of this number is.”

“Done, Sir.”

 

Natasha did actually find the merc in the “practice room” later. How Deadpool knew about the floor of Stark tower with the gym and the simulation room where the Avengers trained, she could only imagine.

True to his word, the merc was on the fireman's pole. She rolled her eyes as he held himself upside down, legs parted, whistling to himself. A Beyonce song was playing.

“Up in the club, doin my own little thing!” Wade sang. “Hey! You came to watch after all! Great! Got any dollar bills? Washingtons, comprende?”

“I'm not giving you any money,” she raised an eyebrow, a hand on her hip. “Tell me something, Deadpool-”

“Something!”

“What are you getting out of this? Why do you care if we find Parker?”

He twirled around the pole, singing some more, then slid down and to her surprise, landed neatly on his feet. He threw his arms up into a Y, shouting “ta-da-a!” She sighed.

“Answer the question.”

“Spidey and I go way back! I told you! We're bee eff effs! Sort of.”

“Sort of,” she nodded slowly.

“Look, Spidey's saved my butt once. Or twice. Okay, maybe a couple of times. And I saved his! So we should be even! But...” He tilted his head as if thinking, arms crossing over his chest.

She waited patiently.

“I was thinking,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “The whole merc thing... Sometimes, I think I'd like to maybe... be one of the good guys?” He let out a fake chuckle. “Ah, well! Why not, right?”

“You want to be a hero.”

He spread his feet, planting his hands on his hips and looking off like an imitation of Captain Morgan.

“An Avenger!” He pointed off into the distance.

“We're not the Power Rangers.”

“Ha!” he pointed at her. “As if _you_ watch the Power Rangers.”

She snorted. “You'd be surprised. Riddle me this though; how did you know about Osborn?”

The merc smiled under his mask – she could actually see the outline of it which was cartoonily odd.

“Well, ya know... Nobody ever _really_ dies. I mean superheroes don't! And neither do villains! You ever notice how that happens?” He gestured with both arms. “I mean, Cap suddenly comes out of the arctic after seventy years? Fuckin' _weird_ , right? Like, the serum just fixes everything, including seventy years without food, water... And then there was that whole thing... well you wouldn't know I guess since you're cinematic universe, not comics. I mean you might know, depending on what direction Whedon takes this shit. I dunno!”

She nodded as if he wasn't rambling absolute nonsense. In a twisted way it made sense though – people like Steve Rogers and Tony Stark tended to be pretty damn resilient considering all the attempts on their lives. She could see the method in Wilson's madness. Comic books. Right. If she'd had time to waste, she would have had picked a little more at his bizarre mind, but she had more important things to do.

“I just want you to keep in mind,” she stepped closer. “That if you in any way jepoardize what we're doing to recover Parker, I'll personally take you apart limb by limb-”

“You really don't have to give me the shovel talk, you know.”

“And then I'll take those pieces and put them in seperate lock boxes and I'll _scatter_ those boxes so that anybody who actually _wants_ to put you back together-”

“Ouch.”

“Would have to go to the trouble of going on a global scavenger hunt.”

“I get it. What you're telling me here,” he motioned between them with a hand, nodding. “I feel you.”

“Just stay out of my way, Wilson.”

 

**Peter**

 

Peter took a shower. It went well – Osborn didn't show up during it, which was a relief. But he was still naked and that presented another problem. Peter just wrapped the towel around his waist and returned to the bed, pulling the covers over him and settling down with the Nook.

He went back to the bioengineering book, skimming through it. Out of morbid curiosity, he searched for one of the transgender books. It was very confusing because Peter didn't really know a lot about transgender terms and right away he was faced with new vocabulary.

Trans man. Trans woman? What was a trans man? Was it a man becoming a woman? Or was it the other way around? Then he saw the terms “male to female” and “female to male” and that made things a little easier to understand.

The book even had pictures, which made Peter blush. He stared in fascination at a clitoris that had grown due to testosterone. His heart thudding in his chest, he moved to the index of the book and looked up 'estrogen.' He read slowly over the list of symptoms and his heart seemed to drop into his stomach.

He'd already read the list handed to him by Osborn, but now there were _images_. Peter had thought it would take months, maybe even years for such radical changes to take place, but it looked like they could take less time than he imagined. He wouldn't even _need_ estrogen for his breasts to grow – they would start to do that already on the blockers.

 _One to three months?_ He stared in horror at the words.

“Well it's a good fucking thing I'm not planning on sticking around then,” he tossed the device aside, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Osborn was out of his mind if he really thought Peter was going to comply with this. What was he even thinking, having Peter read this stuff? Like he would be _excited_ about it somehow?

It was just a good thing Harry probably didn't know the full extent to what a lunatic his father was.

He thought of Gwen again. Maybe he should have asked if he could write her a note too. But enough notes. He needed to figure out how to get out of here.

He sat up as he heard the door opening again and steps approaching.

“Still in bed?”

“I don't have any clothes,” he frowned.

Osborn smirked. “Well, maybe if you behave, I'll get you some clothes. Get up and take a shower.”

“I already did.”

Osborn narrowed his eyes, then motioned with a hand.

“Come here.”

Peter wanted to roll his eyes, but he scooted to the edge of the bed, still holding the blankets over his lap. Osborn leaned in and he flinched away slightly as the man sniffed at him.

“Did you wash your hair?”

“No.”

“I want you to wash it.”

“It's cold in here.”

“Wash it and I'll get you a robe.”

“A robe?” Peter couldn't help it. Why couldn't he have some fucking clothes? “What about those...” He stopped as he remembered the jeans being yanked from his hips. He swallowed and looked away.

“Get up. I want you to wash your hair.”

Peter sighed. He rose from the bed, tugging the sheet up around him.

“Leave it.”

He glared at Osborn.

“Do as I say, Peter.”

The younger man sighed and dropped the blankets, a blush burning his cheeks. At least he still had the towel. He quickly moved to the shower, closing the door of it behind him, lest Osborn get any ideas about following him in. He kept his front toward the wall as he washed his hair, rinsing it off quickly and snatching the towel down to dry himself off. He wrapped it around his hips again and turned to look at Osborn, throwing his hands up as if to say 'Well?'

The man smirked. “All right. Let me bring you the robe.”

Peter scowled, moving to stand at the shower door and wait. It was warm with steam in the shower, but it was chilly out in the room. He sighed impatiently as he watched Osborn return and his brows furrowed at the robe. With irritation, he realized it looked like one of Osborn's.

“Here. Put this on.”

Peter reached out to take it and Osborn grabbed his wrist, causing him to tense.

“Why don't you show a little gratefulness, hm?” Norman licked his lips and Peter's heart began to jackhammer in his chest. He looked away.

“How?”

“Just a little kiss.”

Peter scoffed.

“I suppose you'll just have to go naked then.” There was a growl in his voice that made Peter sick. He rolled his eyes and looked at Osborn. Then he stepped slightly closer. Osborn's grip on his wrist relaxed as he leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man's.

Norman noticed the way Peter's eyes closed during the kiss. It lasted only a moment, but it was sweet and he felt instantly hungry for more. Peter smelled clean and fresh and his lips were as soft as they had been the day before.

“You're welcome,” Norman released the robe and Peter pulled it on. He frowned when he realized it smelled like Osborn too. Fucking great.

He tied the belt around the waist of it.

“You can take that towel off now.”

Peter rolled his eyes again and yanked it off. Osborn took it and moved to hang it over the wall of the shower.

“What were you reading?”

Peter shrugged. “I looked at one of those transgender books. The thing is, I'm not transgender.”

“You are. You're on blockers and you're going to be on estrogen soon.”

“I swear this is just some cruel joke you're playing with me.”

“Oh?” Norman turned, leaning back against the shower and crossing his arms over his chest. “And why would I do that, Peter? Why would I go to all this trouble, treat you well, go about -”

“You're _not_ treating me well,” Peter snapped, turning to glare at him. “You're holding me captive and experiment-”

“Shut up!” Osborn shouted and stepped up to him suddenly. Peter was reminded by the aura around him how strong the man actually was. He, like Peter, had been genetically modified. He didn't step back though. “You keep forgetting whose in charge here, Peter. I could have ended your life. I could torture you-”

“Oh this isn't torture at all?”

“Shut,” His eyes flinched as the man raised a hand to point a finger in his face. “Shut your mouth, Peter. I'm warning you. Now you will show some gratitude or I'll tear that letter of yours up and May Parker will never hear from her nephew again.”

Peter swallowed.

“What's your plan long term? Let's say you... figure out a way for me to have a child. Then what? You send it off to kindergarten? I play Housewives of NYC?”

Norman snorted.

“I made the mistake of losing control with Harry. I won't make that mistake with you, Peter. Or our child,” he stepped forward. “My child. You forget once again – you're a vessel. Nothing more.”

“What happened to 'sweetheart'?” Peter scoffed, stepping back and turning away, walking past the tent.

“I do feel for you,” Norman's teeth were clenched. “But I won't let you use those feelings against me, Peter.”

The younger man laughed.

“Wow. Because _I'm_ the one keeping you hostage, right?”

“Don't make me give you another lesson.”

Peter's jaw clenched. He turned and paced away, not trusting himself to speak.

“I need to get going, but I'll be back. Read the rest of the books. There's one about how to take care of yourself. How to put on makeup. I expect you to put some effort into it.”

Peter just looked over his shoulder at Osborn and shook his head.

“You just remember that if you want me to keep treating you so well you'll improve that attitude of yours. I'll go get you something else to eat and then I'm heading to the lab. I expect this mess cleaned up before I return.”

When the man left the room again, he exhaled and sat down on the end of the bed, holding his head in his hands.

 

Another hour passed before Norman returned. He merely left the food on the couch, saying nothing to him. Peter frowned at it. It looked and smelled appetizing – fried chicken with sweet potatoes, but he wasn't sure he really felt like eating. He went to go drink from the fountain.

As he was standing there, he found himself glancing up at the logs again. Surely there was some way of... No, they were well secured to the wall.

Yet he might be able to break off a part of one. Sharpen it.

With a sigh, he climbed up the wall and sat on the logs. He hung from it, trying to see if he could haul it down, but it stayed put. Then he dropped off and landed.

He missed his webs. Too bad he couldn't make a noose for Osborn.

His eyes opened slowly as he rose from his crouch. That was it. He could make a trap!

The problem, he thought with a frown, would be making a noose and hanging it somewhere that Osborne would stupidly walk into. Also, he wasn't sure that anything he found would be strong enough to choke the Green Goblin without the man breaking them first.

Peter sighed and climbed up to sit on a log, closing his eyes again and allowing himself to think.

 

Peter tried to count the time that passed before Osborn returned. It felt like a couple of hours but he couldn't be sure.

He was lying on the couch leisurely, reading the nook up in front of his face. He had one knee bent and his foot flat against the couch, while the other knee faced away from the couch, his legs in the direction of the glass doors. He figured it would be a little distracting for the older man.

“My my,” a voice purred on the other side of the glass and his anxiety spiked, yet he also felt a calm wash over him as he lowered his nook. Finally. “Someone looks comfortable.”

Osborn opened the door and sauntered in. Peter didn't have to fake the flush on his face as he looked down.

“I am comfortable,” he slipped the belt from his robe free and opened the robe.

“What's this about?” Osborn stopped short of the couch, smirking. “Are you trying to trick me?”

“No. I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Peter's voice quavered slightly as he glanced down and up into Osborn's eyes again. “You're right. I should... act better,” he shrugged. “You could have killed me but you haven't.”

His heart raced as Osborn stepped closer.

“Well I admit I'm tempted, though I'm still thinking this is a trap,” Norman's smirk widened. “You realize if you try to harm me, I'll hurt you, Peter.”

“I... liked yesterday,” Peter looked aside again. “I liked what you did to me.” He looked up at Norman and forced himself to smile a little, like he was feeling shy.

The man was watching him quietly.

“Did you really?” He scoffed. “I couldn't tell.”

Peter blushed and nodded, his heart pounding. His face burned as he realized Norman was staring at his groin. “It felt good. No one's touched me like that before.”

“Ha! Oh really?” Norman sounded doubtful, but he was stepping closer. Peter realized he was pulling the remote out of his coat. Peter nodded again.

“Well, Gwen and I did it but... it wasn't that great.” He looked down at his own chest, shrugging. “I guess I'm not really into girls like I thought I was.”

“Interesting...” Norman stepped closer. “Prove it.”

“What do you want me to do?” Peter sat up slightly, letting the robe slide down his shoulders. He bit his lip like he remembered Gwen doing one time that got him really worked up and something glimmered in Norman's eyes.

“Stand up.”

Peter obeyed.

“Drop the robe.” His voice sounded rough, causing Peter's ears to burn.

“I want you to turn around and put your hands on the couch.”

Peter stared at him, parting his lips to speak, then shrugged and turned around. He set his hands on the couch, blushing furiously at how vulnerable he was.

“I've seen how flexible you are,” Norman murmured, stepping closer. “Put your feet on the edge of the couch.”

Peter swallowed, heart in his throat as he obeyed, straightening his legs so that he was completely bared to the other man. He felt Norman step closer, then something breeze against his groin. A gasp caught in his throat as the man's fingers met his sack. He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth, reminding himself that he just needed Osborn a bit closer...

Osborn's hand slid over his sack, gently squeezing it and he gasped. The man chuckled.

“Do you like this, Peter?”

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, keeping his eyes on the couch. His legs trembled as Norman moved his hand up over Peter's shaft, gently gripping it.

“Your skin is already so soft,” Norman murmured, stroking him. “I look forward to it getting softer, just for me.”

Peter shuddered as his body responded. His stomach twisted and he wanted to be sick.

“I w-want to kiss you,” he said. “Please.”

“Mm. Of course, sweetheart.” Norman chuckled and his voice sounded husky. “Come here and kiss me,” he stepped back.

He moved suddenly. Hands supporting his body, he twisted his torso, sending his legs up at Norman's face. He grabbed the man's neck with his legs, then twisted and used his weight to slam Osborn's head into the low tile wall around the tree next to him.

Osborn yelled as his head struck it and Peter leapt from the couch. He grabbed the robe tie and looped it around Osborne's neck, pulling it as tight as his strenght would allow and dragging the man backward, toward the door.

Osborn groaned and coughed, raising his hand toward a gash on his head that was trickling blood. Peter didn't allow himself to think about that as he hurried toward the double doors. They were locked from the inside, but he'd seen how Osborn got out. He yanked Osborn up by the throat, causing him to choke and grabbed his other hand, shoving the palm against a small black square by the door.

The door unlatched and Peter let out a hysterical laugh, roughly kicking Osborn away from him. He slipped through the door and slammed it shut, then hurried through the small lab and turned to the next one.

He was only lucky Osborn hadn't put another palm device on this door. However there was a keypad. He summoned his strength and ripped the keypad from the wall, then picked up a metal stool and using all of his remaining strength, slammed it into the door's latch. The door finally busted on the third strike and he scrambled through it.

He was cut and bleeding along his knuckles and his arms were already aching, but he didn't care. Peter moved as quickly as he could down the hallway.

He kept expecting guards and he slowed at one point, crouching slightly. His spidey senses were going off like crazy and he was mainly distracted from them by the adrenaline flooding through his body. He felt a shot of fear go up his spine, and fearing that Osborn was right behind him, he began to run again, not caring if he encountered anyone.

He was naked and it was freezing cold in the building, but after a long hallway, he finally found another flight of stairs and a third door. He slammed his shoulder against it once, twice, a third time and it busted open. Just at that moment, he heard a great bellowing from down behind him.

Heart in his throat, he cursed and ran through the door. His ribs were aching and he thought his heart would burst as he found himself in another hallway with several doors. To his left was a room with windows – windows!

He squinted, already expecting bright daylight but found that it was dark outside.

He ran into the room, pulling the door shut behind him and shoving a table against it, then moved to the window. Looking out to make sure that he was only on the first floor, he let out a happy gasp and picked up another chair, throwing it through the window.

It bounced off the glass.

Peter cursed and grabbed the chair again, hammering it rapidly against the window as hard as he could.

It finally smashed, sending glass everywhere, but Peter couldn't have cared less. He would worry about lacerations later. He leapt through the broken window and landed hard on the ground, rolling and scrambling up into a run again. Grass tickled his feet, grains of dirt sticking to them. Looking around, he realized that he wasn't even in the city.

In fact, he looked to be in the middle of nowhere.

He heard the bellowing again – a voice full of obscenities and threats – and he cursed.

Turning his head, he saw a single car in the parking lot and ran toward it. He ran up to it and slammed his elbow into the passenger side window. He kept beating his elbow into it until it shifted downward, cracked, then broke. The alarm went off, causing Peter to curse more as he reached into the car and unlocked it.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he blathered, scrambling into it and pulling the door shut. He slid into the driver's side, gasping as he felt a piece of glass from the window cutting his thigh.

“No time,” he whined as he looked at the steering wheel. He couldn't think! His hands flailed for a moment before he thrust them under the steering wheel and his fingers scrambled, pulling out wires.

Something he remembered hearing from Bruce Banner about how newer cars couldn't be hotwired flit through his head and he whined again in panic.

“Come on come on come on!”

He found two wires and pushed them together. Nothing. Oborne's voice was growing closer. Two more wires! He shoved them together. No- the car started!

He let out a sob and tied the wires together, his fingers shaking, then sat up again. His ass hurt from the glass cutting into his butt and he had a thousand other aches and pains, but he couldn't have been happier as he moved the car into reverse and looked behind him.

WHAM.

And that would be Osborn landing on the hood of the car.

Osborn sneered at him, even more terrifying in the dark with blood pouring down his face. Peter glared up at him in hate and fear and slammed his foot on the pedal. The scar slid backward, Peter turning the wheel. Osborne snarled and punched at the windshield. It cracked.

Peter moved the car into drive and slammed his foot on the pedal again. The car flew forward. While he knew he'd probably regret it, he knew he also didn't have time to buckle his seatbelt.

In that instant, he didn't know why, but he found himself thinking that it would be a joke Wade would appreciate.

He slammed on the brakes, his body flying into the steering wheel and Osborne's body slipping from the windshield. Yet, he managed to hold on to the hood!

Peter groaned in pain and cursed.

“ _Oh_ hell _no!_ ”

He moved the car in drive. If he couldn't shake the asshole, then fine, he would try again.

He shoved the pedal all the way down, the car flying forward, and swerved out of the parking lot and onto the road. Peter was only glad they were out in the middle of nowhere, or other people might get hurt. It wasn't easy to drive with a man punching the fucking windshied.

“ _You little shit! Stop this fucking car right now, Peter Parker!_ ” Osborn's voice sounded like something straight from hell.

“Sure thing, boss,” Peter growled, slamming on the breaks. He whacked into the steering wheel again and groaned. Osborn flew from the hood this time and Peter could hear the wet, grotesque crunch of his impact on the asphalt.

He realized that in the midst of the chaos, he hadn't turned the car's headlights on. With trembling fingers, he flicked the tip of the left turning signal. The road was illuminated, revealing the older man curled up on the asphalt. He was moving, but slowly.

Peter gasped in pain – chest aching- and pushed himself back into the seat. Fingers trembling, he moved his shaking hands back to the wheel and pressed the pedal once more. If he ran over Osborn, so fucking be it.

Just as the car sprang forward, Osborn leapt up with a roar and landed on the hood. He lifted his fist up and slammed it into the windshield.

Glass shattered in Peter's vision, causing him to close his eyes tightly and step hard on the brake again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's evil leaving you with a cliff hanger. But I promise a new update will be up within the week! I want to try and get this fic done before I start classes :P  
> I thank you for your comments and your patience! :)
> 
> Also, I am not an automotive expert so I don't really know if newer cars can be hot-wired or not.


	9. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha makes plans to investigate the research facility. Meanwhile, Peter tries to recover and collect himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I'm sorry! I said there would be another update within the week and it's now like a month later. I'm horrible, I know. But thank you all for your comments! I'm so glad you're enjoying this and looking forward to the update.
> 
> As a warning, this chapter includes torture as well as needles. (The needles are not involved in the torture. Just in normal medical uses but I thought I'd still warn people.)   
> I hate to spoil anything but some of you asked if Peter was going to undergo a full surgical transition before he was rescued. See end of chapter notes for spoilery info.

“I think we should check out the place upstate,” Natasha glanced up from her cup of tea. The Avengers minus Thor were gathered in the sitting area of Tony's penthouse.

“You think something's there?” Tony lifted an eyebrow.

“I'm almost positive there's something there. Why is there suddenly a new 'research' facility out in the middle of cow country? That just _happens_ to open a few weeks before Spider Man goes missing?”

“You know I never really thought of upstate New York as cow country,” Tony mused. “I always thought of it more as the Land of Many Four Wheelers.”

“That's one name for it,” Clint mumbled. “But I agree with Tasha. We should at least check it out.”

“Do you want to do that together?” Steve looked to them, then glanced to Natasha. “Or do you want to handle it alone?”

“I guess it would be good to have cover. Just in case things go awry,” Natasha's lips curled at one corner.

“Yeah,” Clint smiled a little. “Never know what you're dealing with when it comes to Oscorp.”

“Do you often sneak into their property?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. Clint smirked.

“I'm gonna take the fifth on that. But SHIELD has had some _issues_ with Oscorp before.”

“That they have,” Natasha said.

“Sir, I've discovered something.” JARVIS spoke up. Steve and Clint looked up toward the ceiling out of habit.

“Lay it on me,” Tony sipped at his own mug of coffee.

“It seems that last night around eight forty five p.m. Harry Osborn was in a car accident.”

“What kind of car accident?” Tony said after they all glanced at eachother.

“According to the report, he struck a deer while traveling down the highway – apparently while leaving the upstate facility.”

“That's a little odd...” Bruce murmured.

“Could be coincidence.” Steve frowned deeply. “But what does it have to do with our search?”

“According to the insurance report, the windshield was shattered and there were dents on the vehicle.”

“There should be broken glass in the car,” Natasha mused, looking to Clint.

“Yeah?”

“Possibly blood...”

“There was also damage to the facility as well – a broken window. And according to the security log, the building's alarm was triggered,” JARVIS continued.

“That's _very_ interesting,” Natasha stood, all business, forgetting her tea on the low table.

“Wait,” Steve called after her. “What are you planning?”

She stopped and turned to him. “I need to get inside that building. JARVIS, can you access a list of people with clearance?”

“It appears that only one person has access to the entirety of the building, including the sub-basement; a Robert Cambridge. Phd in Genetics.”

“I need to get in that building.” Natasha looked to Tony.

“You'll have to be Robert Cambridge then,” Tony pouched his lips and raised his eyebrows.

Natasha looked to Clint.

“I'm not really a disguisey type of person.”

“You mean like Dana Carrey?” Tony asked.

“Please don't talk about that movie,” Bruce made a face.

“Speaking of annoying people,” Clint said. “Where's Wilson?”

“Where's Wilson. Sounds like a terrible game,” Tony said. “JARVIS where _is_ our guest psychopathic clown?”

“He passed out in one of the guest rooms on floor eighty one when I refused to let him leave the tower,” JARVIS intoned.

“The strangest thing I never thought I'd hear you say; me _forcing_ that guy to _stay_ in my tower.” Tony shook his head. "Is he awake?”

“We do not need him right now,” Natasha held up her hands.

"Or ever," Tony added. “I just wanted to make sure he's not wandering around in one of my labs.”

“As if I would allow him to do so,” JARVIS actually sounded insulted.

“I'm sorry Jarvs. Course you wouldn't.”

“We don't need to worry about Wilson right now,” Steve sighed, leaning on the bar counter in the kitchenette. “I think Clint is our best bet to get inside of the tower – he can at least let you in if he gets clearance.”

Natasha nodded.

“Sub-basement,” Steve mused. “JARVIS, you said the building has a sub-basement?”

“Yes. Dr Robert Cambridge has sole access.”

“Any papers on the internet by this doctor?” Natasha pondered.

“Searching..." After a few moments, JARVIS added. "I have found no research papers authored by a Robert Cambridge online.”

“Any pictures?”

“None. He has no employee profile and no picture I.D.”

“Thought so.” She looked to Tony. “All right. We need to get Clint access. I'm guessing the building uses keycards?”

“Aw _man_ , I don't _wanna_ be Dr Cambridge,” Clint groaned. Natasha kicked him in the shin.

“Do you want to help Peter or what?”

“We don't know that he's there,” Clint pointed out. “This could be Osborn Junior's meth lab for all we know.”

“That kid does look a bit strung out,” Tony said with a shrug.

“Can we please take this seriously?” Steve was rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Tony and Clint had the grace to look ashamed.

“What kind of SHIELD tech can you get a hold of?” Steve asked Natasha whose lips curved into a small smile.

“So you _are_ t hinking what I'm thinking. Bravo, Captain.”

“What if we're chasing a dead end?” Tony looked up at Steve.

The captain was silent for a few moments, staring back at him, then he sighed.

“Then we chase it until we're _sure_ it's a dead end. We have to exhaust every possibility. Peter's life depends on it.”

“I just wish Thor would let us know if he made any progress with the mask,” Tony grumbled.

* * *

 

**Twenty one hours earlier**

 

Harry slid a hand up the back of his neck, trying to get his thoughts straight. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be working at all lately.

“It's a miracle you weren't hurt, Mr Osborn,” the paramedic told him. He smiled tiredly. It was early in the morning.

“It sure was. I feel so foolish honestly. I mean, how could I have gone off the road for a stupid deer?”

He shook his head.

The paramedic shrugged and shook her head. “It happens. I'm just glad you weren't hurt. Your car on the other hand...” she sighed and shook her head again. “It sure is a pity.”

“It sure is,” Harry sighed, looking toward the car. Honestly it freaked him out just looking at it. He'd had to help his father – he had a hard time even calling that thing his father anymore, honestly, even if it was him – break the bloody shards of glass from the windshield and then clean the blood out of the car before paramedics arrived. He hadn't even seen what the man did with Parker's body and he knew better than to ask. He shuddered, just thinking about it.

The more worrying thing than any of it was that lunatic in the red and black suit who stole his fucking iPad the day before. He'd shown up out of nowhere at the Tech Talk in Oscorp headquarters, danced on the refreshments table, leapt into Harry's lap, and started singing to him. Harry had been so freaked out, he hadn't even noticed the man slip his hand into his coat to snatch the iPad.

He had a whole team working on figuring out who the man was, looking at the security footage, but-

“Sir?”

“Sorry?” he looked up.

“Are you sure you don't want a ride to the hospital?” The paramedic looked concerned. “I mean...”

“It's fine. Really. I'm just... tired and a little dizzy.”

“If you're sure...” she held out a clipboard.

“I am.”

“Well, sign this release form.” She smiled as another car pulled up. Harry's heart sunk into his stomach.

The windows of the car were dark, not allowing him to see the passenger, but he knew who it was because the car had always been his father's favorite.

He signed the form and watched as a tow truck pulled up to tow the wrecked Mercedes. With a sigh, he gave one last thanks and a smile to the paramedic and walked over to the one that had just pulled up. Opening the door, he slipped in and closed it behind him.

“Everything going well?”

“Everything going smooth,” Harry nodded, glancing toward the man in the driver's seat. His wounds from earlier seemed to be patched up or already healed. His father was wearing a suit and a pair of large sunglasses. Harry shuddered, remembering the gash he'd seen under his eye, not to mention the open gore of his father's knee from going through the windshield. “Now what?”

“Now, I take you back to headquarters and you smile and go about your business like a grown man,” his father snapped. “And you'll mention nothing of this to anyone.”

“Of course not.” Harry glowered. Really, did the man think he was an idiot? He felt tempted to point out that he'd done just fine while Norman was 'dead' but he had a feeling the Green Goblin wouldn't take it so well.

“Good. And not another damn word about Parker.” His father was glaring at him under the sunglasses. He couldn't see those eyes but he could feel them and he felt a rush of loathing.

“Fine with me,” Harry mumbled as if he didn't care. Honestly, he couldn't sleep sometimes thinking about Parker and what might be happening to him. But there wasn't anything he could do for his estranged friend either.

“Get some sleep,” was all his father had to say when they arrived at Harry's apartment building, not too far from Oscorp downtown. The man eyed the everyday people walking by on the sidewalks and Harry caught a glimpse of his eye from the side. He shuddered at seeing a hint of yellow in them and gladly opened his door, slipping from the car as fast as possible. He watched the car pull away and felt a chill inside.

_God have mercy on Parker._

He turned to head into the building. _Honestly, he'd be lucky if the Green Goblin let him die._

* * *

 

**Present Time**

 

_'I told you that boy would-'_

“I know,” Norman snarled as he sped up through the city. “I know!”

He cursed as he had to press sharply on the brakes for a woman at the crosswalk. She scowled at his car as she walked across. She was an older woman and reminded him of May which caused him to smile as he thought of the letter and what he would do to Peter when the boy finally woke.

_'Don't break your toy already, Norman. After all, weren't you going to make him your little wife?'_

“Don't remind me,” he growled, accelerating again. He drove slower the rest of the way, not wanting to bring anyone's attention. This car was already licensed to Harry, since Norman was legally dead. He smiled at the amount of freedom legal death gave him. Harry had to handle all of the politics now, the bureaucracy and paperwork – it was the only think the idiot boy was suited to, really. While Norman did the real work.

He felt his excitement rise as he headed away from Manhattan and out to the lab where he had Peter under tighten restraint. Of course Peter was currently unconscious, so he would have to wake his pet up first before he could begin to punish him.

He clenched his teeth, feeling like a fool again as he thought of Peter bent before him, goading him on. He should have known.

_'I tried to tell you.'_

“You were _right!_ I was a fool. But I won't let him trick me again. This time, I'll break him. He'll never even _think_ about crossing me again.”

_'Oh, I can't wait to see this.'_

The Goblin cackled and Norman grinned.

 

He felt better, more confident, despite his soreness, as he headed down the halls. He had security in the halls now and the door leading to the basement would have a guard posted at all times.

He hadn't enjoyed leaving his project behind, but he'd needed to meet with someone in the city; the surgeon who would assist him with Peter, in fact. Norman was pleased with the scientist. He hadn't actually asked for that much money to perform the surgery, apparently eager to find a test subject for his revolutionary methods.

Nodding to the men at the door, Norman headed down into the basement.

His anger seemed to fade as he entered the medical unit and he stared at the prone form of Peter Parker.

His face was badly bruised, although he could see that the spider genes had already begun their healing work.

Across Parker's chest were several massive bruises – it was a mix of green, purple, and blue. He shook his head at the wasteful damage. Parker had several broken ribs when he was pulled from the car, but as Norman listened, he could tell that those were knitting too. Parker's breathing seemed more even, less hitching with pain.

His hands and feet were a mess of cuts, likewise one of his knees had been busted against the dashboard and was in a stint. Parker's neck was supported as well. His ankles and wrists were bound to the examination table with magnetic cuffs, another strap over his waist. Norman smirked at the untouched, unmarked, bare groin.

He strolled back and forward a bit, contemplating what he might do to Parker.

_'Make him scream. Make him weep and beg you for mercy.'_

“Well of course,” Norman laughed, rubbing his chin.

_'Don't laugh! Make him suffer for his defiance. Make him learn true humility. Break him. Turn him into a weak, whimpering mess before you.'_

“Oh I will,” Norman felt almost breathless at the thought. Even just seeing Peter broken up like this, bare as the day he was born, and strapped tightly down made him feel incredible.

His qualm was whether or not to use persuasion of a certain intimate kind. He was more than tempted to bend Parker over and spread him open, humiliate him, violate him. But...

If he was honest with himself, that would spoil the vision he had of an eager, willing mate. Parker spreading his legs just as he had on that couch.

_'An illusion! You already let him manipulate you before you've even started. You're a fool-'_

“I won't!” he shouted, banging a fist on the counter near the wall. “I won't let him!”

_'Then don't let your body make you weak!'_

Norman cursed and he nodded, forced to concede the Goblin was right.

That was when he saw the eyelashes flutter. Parker groaned and writhed against the table in pain, coughing. His face was a tight grimace and then he blinked and his eyes opened. At first they stared up blankly at the ceiling as if he was trying to recall where he was.

Norman snickered and was by his side in an instant. Parker's eyes flew open wide as he loomed over the boy. His lips parted in a silent gasp.

“N-n!” Peter clenched his teeth and shook his head, his face becoming a mask of rage. Turning his neck caused him pain, Norman could see, and the older man laughed in his face.

“That's right, Parker. You're _right back here_... with me.”

Osborne sneered, slipping his fingers toward the prone boy's chest. He dragged his fingernails down the bruises there, causing Peter to cry out.

“Does it hurt, Parker? Hm? Does it hurt to know that no matter how hard you tried, you _failed_ to escape?” He laughed, watching the emotions flickering in Peter's eyes. The boy's rage amused him. “Yes. Well it's going to hurt a lot more, Parker.” He allowed some of his own anger to show. “It's going to hurt a lot more because _you hurt me_ , Peter. You played a dangerous game. And you've _lost_.” He relished the boy's scream as he slammed his fist down on Peter's busted knee.

“I'm going to _break_ you this time, Peter. And feel free to beg. Because it won't make a damn difference!” He laughed. “You will _beg and beg_ until you learn that _nothing_ happens until I want it to, Peter. The pain doesn't end until _I_ decide it's over.”

Peter whined behind his clenched teeth, breathing hard, as Osborn slowly leaned back and relinquished the pressure on his knee.

Norman took a deep breath, hands resting on the side of the table. He needed to think before he proceeded further. Let Parker wait and be terrified of what would happen to him. Torture had to be a careful business. It made his stomach turn for a moment, as he looked down on the boy's beautiful, bruised face. He had hoped that they could come to an understanding, after all. Now it was clear that Parker would have to be trained.

He moved to Peter's jaw, pressing something a square plastic piece into his mouth. Peter gagged on it, trying to turn his head, but Norman held his jaw. The boy whimpered as it was strapped into his mouth.

Two metal tongs projected from the plastic square, pressing into Peter's gums between his top back molars.

“I hate this,” Norman said, only partly lying as he moved to a small control box on the counter. “But you need to learn your lesson. Perhaps a little treatment will curb your defiance.”

He turned the current up and the young man's body grew rigid, a scream torn from his throat. Tears began to course down his cheeks.

Peter felt as if his body was on fire, starting in his tender gums and spreading down his aching neck, down his spine, down his whole body. He screamed as the current continued, Norman watching him and turning it up.

“Take this lesson to heart, Peter.” He turned the current up further and the boy's body jerked again, another cry escaping his throat. “Remind yourself of the consequences for disappointing me.”

He finally turned the current down and Peter's body collapsed, the young man panting. His eyes were staring up at the ceiling in fear. Norman glanced over his body slowly and sighed again.

His hand slid over the smooth belly longingly, stroking a circle in the scant trail of hair. Peter let out a sob, his eyes closing, head shaking.

“Shh,” Norman hushed him, his hand growing more firm on the boy's belly. “Submit to me, Peter. Submit and you'll have nothing to fear.”

Peter shook his head, his sobs turning to harsh breaths, his eyes opening to look on Norman with fury.

He had the feeling that if the boy didn't have something gagging him, he would spit on Norman.

With a snarl, he turned back to the dial, swinging the current up again. The body jerked against the table, hips flying up and slamming down loudly, Peter's head jerking. He watched the tremors run under the younger man's skin. It was surprisingly erotic to Norman.

His breaths coming shallowly, he turned it down again and Peter lay limply.

“Still feeling defiant?”

A whine was all he got in response. He saw Peter's chest rise quickly and then fall, rise quickly and then fall... Then it seemed to bounce as quiet sobs followed.

He smiled, feeling satisfied.

“I hope we're clear now about what I expect from you, Peter. I would hate to be disappointed again, no?”

Peter didn't look at him or respond.

“Answer me!” Norman snarled, stepping forward and snatching the guard from Peter's mouth. The younger man coughed and licked his lips.

“I'm hardly... going to go anywhere...like this,” he said, looking at Norman in disgust.

Norman sneered at him, leaning in so that his nose was inches from Peter's.

“I've told you to watch that attitude of yours. Just keep testing me.”

Peter watched as Norman smiled and stood upright again. He wanted to spit the coppery taste in his mouth out at the man, but he instead swallowed, not wanting any more of that current. His neck had already been stiff and sore, now it was worse. His injuries were exacerbated from the thrashing he'd done due to the current.

He couldn't get sucked back into a power struggle with Osborn. He had to heal and escape. It didn't matter if he had to suck it up and play nice in the meantime. Peter wasn't going to die here and he wasn't going to let Osborn get away with this.

He watched as the man walked out of the lab with a whistle and a spring in his step.

* * *

 

Peter woke hours later, every muscle on his body burning with soreness. It was dark and he blinked against it, trying to see. He couldn't move his hands to wipe his face either.

He shifted and realized with horror that there was something stuck inside of his... inside of his dick. He tried to figure out what it was, wincing as he shifted. His ribs hurt and his muscles were even more stiff and painful after... after...

Pain like lightning. Electricity. A current buzzing through his head and... laughing.

A car. He was driving it and... broken glass. His chest hitting something and the sound of his ribs cracking.

He shifted in the darkness, blinking against it, but it was so total except for the machines he could hear to his left. He peered at the small lights on them and after listening to the beeping sound, realized that one was a heart monitor. He licked his dry lips, making a face. His mouth tasted of copper. The inside of his gums stung.

After a few moments he realized the thing stuck to his dick was a catheter. He didn't think Norman was the type to want to deal with having to clean Peter up. The idea that Norman had been _touching him while he was asleep_ was not something Peter wanted to dwell on either way.

Anger buzzed low through his being, but he was too weak to even focus on it. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Gwen and his Aunt May.

She would never get the note now. Osborn was going to do whatever he wanted and then... Peter felt a trace of fear. There were supposed to be more blockers and shots and... eventually surgery. He shuddered.

It was like some kind of serial killer thing. Peter wasn't even sure what would be worse at this point; Osborn murdering him or Osborn mutilating him with surgery.

He shuddered, remembering what he'd read on the internet about serial killers. He'd been a morbid teenager, curious about murder mysteries and the next thing he knew, Peter was sitting up all night looking at pictures of homicides. His Uncle Ben had nearly scared the daylights out of him when he knocked on Peter's bedroom door sometime early in the morning. That was before his Spidey days where he probably would have ended up on the ceiling at such a fright.

The reminder of his concerned uncle Ben's face in the doorway of his bedroom made the corner of his lips stretch into a weary smile. Peter swallowed against the melancholy and tried to rouse himself.

He tugged at his bonds, frowning when he got the sensation that he was still being held down by mag cuffs. There were more restraints on his ankles. His stiff knee protested when he tried to move his legs. He felt something over his waist too. (Like his waist was going anywhere without his arms and legs free!)

He sighed and tried to close his eyes, tried to get some rest at least. He didn't think Osborn would use any more of the electric...

Tears prickled at his eyes and he blinked against them, ashamed. He shouldn't be crying like this. Not when Gwen and his Aunt May were probably imagining him hurt or dead somewhere. He couldn't give Norman the satisfaction.

He kept picturing the fight in the parking lot but it all seemed to blur together now as broken glass, his own terrified running, and the swerving of the car. His stomach turned and he took a deep breath, opening his eyes. But there was nothing but darkness to greet them.

The metal table was hard underneath him and he felt grimy. The bottoms of his feet felt dirty and he wondered if Osborn had even bothered to clean him off. The lab was cold, the only warmth was that of the table underneath him where his body had been in contact with it.

Peter pushed the thoughts away and tried to focus on how he would get out, but his mind couldn't seem to move past the pain of his still healing body.

* * *

 

When he next woke up, the lab was dimly lit and he groaned at the throbbing pain through his whole body – mainly focused in his head and ribs. The table felt softer under him, he noticed.

“Oh you're going to be in pain for a while, I'm afraid. If I could just figure this out...”

He blinked rapidly, forcing his eyes to open. Osborn was in the room and he was going to hurt Peter again. He had to wake up.

“I hate to resort to dumping more chemicals in your body, but...”

“Nothing's stopped you before,” he croaked, then winced. His throat was sore, probably from screaming the day before. Or however long ago that had been.

“Well, you are right about that,” a chuckle followed. Peter's teeth clenched as he finally managed to get his eyes open. Norman's back was to him and the man was fiddling with something on a counter.

Peter then realized he was no longer on a metal table. In fact, he was on what looked like a hospital bed. He was even wearing patient scrubs and there was a blanket and sheet pulled up over his ribs.

He felt less grimy too and realized Osborn must have given him some kind of bath. Nurse Norman. Great.

Peter's stomach twinged and he realized how hungry he was. More pressing, however, was the thirst and the pain. Especially the pain.

He took a deep breath as consciousness cruelly wrapped it's arms around him, crushing him with the pain. His head throbbed, as did his ribs. The sharp hitch every time he breathed in had dulled.

Norman turned around to face him and the man approached. Peter tried to see what was on the counter but his neck twinged as he tried to move it in the brace.

“Thirsty?” Norman lifted an eyebrow. There was no sign of the Goblin right now, Peter noted. He actually looked calm, even if his face was still sort of bruised. Peter noticed there were small bandages on his hands.

“Yes.”

The man stepped out of his view for a moment, then returned with a bottle of water, a straw tucked into it. Peter allowed him to set the straw on his lips and drank. He coughed somewhat, then sighed. His head ached.

“I'll need you to heal up soon so that we can get back on schedule.”

“Sure thing,” Peter coughed again, then winced against the soreness of his ribs.

“Really is a pity it had to be this way,” Norman sighed, then turned away and Peter glared at his back, wishing he had energy to spit on the man. A few minutes passed and Osborn returned with a remote in one hand and a tray in the other. Peter tensed, remembering the anklet with the current and the remote Osborn had for that, but he realized what the remote was for after the bed began to raise him into a sitting position.

“Let's not have a repeat of that incident,” Norman said, setting the tray on Peter's lap. Peter was relieved to see that it bore food, not torture devices. So Norman was going to play friendly again.

“Um. My hands are tied.”

“I know,” Norman picked up the fork on the tray and Peter sighed as mashed potatoes were scooped up and then held in front of his lips. Peter opened his mouth – might as well prevent starving to death if he could. At least later he'd be able to tell Aunt May he'd eaten well.

There would be a later. He would escape. He just had to keep hoping.

Norman chuckled. “So persistent. That's what I like about you, Peter. You won't give up.”

Peter almost froze. It was like the man had heard his thoughts.

“Unfortunately, that means I'll have to find other ways of getting you to behave.”

His stomach felt cold and he almost refused the next bite of mashed potatoes, but he opened his mouth to accept it. Norman's maneuvering of the fork was gentle.

“What means?” Might as well ask. Maybe if he got Osborn to monologue, Peter could distract the man from doing anything to him.

Norman chuckled as he fed Peter a bite of the meat on the plate. The meat had already been cut up into smaller bits; some kind of country steak. He opened his mouth and received the bite. Norman moved the water bottle back to Peter's lips as he spoke.

“I don't think you need to worry about that.”

Peter sipped the water, a flash of anger and fear burning his chest.

“Okay...”

He tried to think of some other way of distracting Osborn, but he felt tired suddenly. Sitting up made his ribs ache even more.

“Let's finish your meal and I'll give you a pain reliever.”

Peter felt pleasantly surprised. So maybe that meant no more electric shocks? His face colored as he remembered how he'd cried from the pain. He told himself that he didn't feel grateful for Osborn's recent mercy. He couldn't afford to count on it.

As soon as Peter had eaten the last bite, Osborn took the tray of food away, then returned with another tray. There was a small bottle and a needle.

“So... Is that the pain reliever?”

“Hm? Oh no,” Osborn set the tray aside on a table by the bed. “That's to help you relax. The pain relief...” The older man grabbed an IV stand and moved it closer, then set up a bag. He attached it to the IV port already in Peter's right arm. “Is right here.”

Peter frowned, watching the liquid flowing down the tube into his IV port.

“So what kind of pain-”

“Fentanyl.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yes. You get the good stuff,” Peter flinched as Norman reached forward and gently brushed his knuckles over the younger man's cheek.

“Um. Thanks.”

“Feeling anything yet?”

Peter shook his head. Then it began to creep up on him.

He felt like he was falling into a cloud, warmth easing up his back, through his ribs, into his shoulders, up his neck... He tried to keep his eyes open but they were already drifting shut.

“There we are,” Norman was looking down at him but Peter's vision was beginning to blur.

“Holy shhhiiit,” the younger man slurred.

“Well... had to be sufficient for someone who is enhanced, no? I want you to feel good now. And I want you to listen to me.”

Peter lost track of Osborn, but a moment later he could sense the man on his left instead of his right. Osborn was doing something. Peter stared at him in a daze, blinking heavily.

“Stay still,” the man cautioned. Peter didn't feel the needle slip into the vein of his left arm.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled. He couldn't even feel his lips anymore. It was pretty incredible. He didn't feel rested at all, really. He must have not slept very well. Well, he was in pain... But now the pain was far away and Peter felt like he could sleep for days.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Good,” he murmured.

“You're very beautiful. You know that, right?”

A hand was brushing against his cheek. He blinked slowly. He just wanted to sleep.

“Sure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Spoilery answer following*
> 
> Keep in mind that at the beginning of the fic I mentioned that this was a fill for a prompt on a kink meme. The original prompt called for Osborn having to make a 'suitable heir' and Peter being made female. Also, the tags mention forced transition and forced pregnancy, so yes, Peter undergoes a full transition surgery(ies) before he's rescued. 
> 
> This is a dark fic! I promise it has a happy ending, but if you're triggered by forced surgery or forced transition, then please don't continue reading.


	10. Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint investigate the new upstate research facility while Peter struggles to stay conscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update for you guys. I might try to post another one soon because I'm going on vacation for several days! It's a bit late for the beach, but it's Florida so who cares? :) 
> 
> I screwed up! This was actually supposed to be a pre Ultron, pre Captain America: The Winter Soldier fanfiction, being as that is about when I started writing it. It's funny because I actually published this March 27th 2014 and CA:TWS was released on March 26th 2014 internationally; I wasn't really that big into Cap films at the time so I didn't see Winter Soldier until I think earlier this year.   
> What I mean is I mentioned Hydra in an earlier chapter but in the MCU, Cap and the others don't know Hydra is still around until CA:TWS. Anyway, I am now switching the timeline of this fic to post CA:TWS but pre Ultron. It doesn't really affect the overall story because the Amazing Spiderman series isn't MCU anyway and I'm still pretending the ending of Amazing Spiderman 2 didn't happen as Gwen is obviously still alive in this fic. It just better explains the Avengers knowing about Hydra. Also, Thor will be reappearing at some point. 
> 
> Those of you waiting on the actual Spideypool, I promise we're getting there soon!

“Shh. I'm so sorry, my sweet Ana.”

His head jolted as he felt something press against his lips. It returned to press again and he realized it was a plastic straw. He blinked his eyes open widely, unable to wipe the grime from them, and licked his lips. His mouth felt as if there was cotton stuffed into it.

“Here, take a sip, sweetheart.”

The voice was Osborn's, there was no doubt about it. But it seemed oddly far off. Peter opened his lips weakly to take the straw in and sipped. He coughed at first, then managed to sip more and drink several gulps of water.

“Good girl.”

He blinked in confusion, about to correct the strange voice, when he felt himself drifting away again.

 

* * *

 

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

He winced as his eyes opened slowly.

“I know you've only just recovered from your injuries, but I need you to get up and walk around a bit. Can't have your muscles atrophying.”

He murmured and shook his head, wanting to sleep more. Everything still felt so far away and he was warm in bed. He'd been having a dream about Gwen.

Gwen.

A car accident. Electricity. A hospital bed. Fentanyl.

Osborn.

He opened his eyes as wide as he could and blinked the sleep out of them. Peter turned his head to look at Osborn and winced, expecting pain but finding only stiffness.

“Have some more water, hm?” The straw was pressed to his lips again and Peter drank.

“There we are. That's my girl.”

He pulled his lips away from the straw, swallowing and making a face.

“What?”

“I need you to get up and stretch. Walk around a little.”

He was about to protest that he was tied down when he realized the strap was no longer over his middle keeping him strapped to the bed. Unfortunately he still had the mag cuffs on, which secured his wrists to his sides. His legs were free, though his excitement was curbed when he moved them and winced at how stiff his right knee was.

Osborn was tugging him up off the bed. Peter allowed himself to be dragged along. He groaned at the pain lancing through his body. His chest still hurt, his knee was throbbing, and he cried out as he stood on his injured leg.

“There we are,” he murmured, hands on Peter's upper arms as he guided the younger man along.

Peter took slow steps, grimacing, his eyes closed tightly.

“There we go... Good girl.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Really?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he tried to say but it came out fuzzy.

“Now now,” Norman helped him move over the cold lab floor. Peter wiggled his toes, ensuring that he could still do so. He remembered lightning and pain from somewhere but he wasn't sure where.

Had to get out of here. Had to escape.

He thought about the accident, the bright red car. Was it... was it Norman's car? Or Harry's?

“Seems too flashy for you,” Peter mumbled as he stumbled along.

“What?” Osborn sounded puzzled. He helped Peter turn around and walk back toward the bed, the young man stepping gingerly and wincing again. “Is your knee bothering you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he furrowed his brows. It was so hard keeping his eyes open. He heard Osborn chuckle.

“Still so feisty. All right. Back onto the bed you go.”

“I don't want to go to bed,” Peter scowled as he was aided into sitting down. He swayed back against the portion of the bed that had been raised.

“You can still move your legs.”

“Want... the cuffs off. Please?”

“I'm afraid I can't-”

“ _I want these goddamn cuffs off!_ ” Peter screamed. Osborn was silent and Peter trembled, expecting to be hit. He didn't know why but he kept thinking there'd be electricity too, lots of pain. He began to cry. Nothing made any sense.

“Get them off of me...”

“Shh, settle down. Here's some more water.”

The straw was pressed to his lip again and he drank, sniffling. He felt a little better after drinking some water. At least, his throat wasn't hurting anyway.

“You're doing good. Let's get you to bend your legs a little, hm?”

The glass disappeared and Peter whined as he heard Osborn moving to the end of the bed. He managed to open his eyes to see the man grasping his ankle and foot, but then his eyes rolled shut again and his head sagged back.

_God_ , but these were some serious drugs.

He began to cry again because he wasn't supposed to be this drugged. It was very bad. The last time he'd been so drugged-

“Ow!” he shouted as Osborn lifted his leg and bended his knee, moving Peter's foot up toward his hip.

“Shh,” he said, moving Peter's leg in a pedaling motion, like on a bicycle.

“You're – hic – such an asshole.”

He didn't get why he sounded so whiny. Right, drugs. The last time he'd been this drugged.... He was getting his tonsils taken out? No. He was... he had wisdom teeth removed.

He'd swung his head side to side as Uncle Ben drove him home from the dentist's office and made crooning noises, mouth full of cotton wads.

“Unhle Beh, I canh felh ennehtheh,” he'd said. His uncle had chuckled.

“Gracious, Peter. Don't let that cotton fall out of your mouth now.”

“Huh?” Peter had been so confused. There was cotton in his mouth?

He giggled, lying back on the bed as his leg was gently rested on the bed again.

“Good girl,” Norman told him, stroking his shin before moving over to his left leg.

“What?” Peter managed to open his eyes, blinking. “You keep saying that, stop it. I'm not a _fucking girl_ already.”

“You are my girl. You're going to be my beautiful girl, Ana.”

“You're so _crazy_ ,” Peter sighed, trying to sit up again. “Why don't... why don't you just get a girlfriend... on the _internet?_ ”

He heard a chuckle. “Why indeed. Save myself some trouble.”

Peter nodded stiffly, then winced at the soreness in his neck. “Yeah. Way easier...” He yawned and slumped back against the bed. His eyes were open now but he still found it hard to think as he stared at Osborn's hands moving his left leg in the same pedaling motion. He was forgetting something. Right. He shook his head; Norman Osborn was so _weird._

“But why go and find a woman when I can just create my own?” The man sounded like he wasn't really talking to Peter, but more to himself. Peter's shoulders sagged. He missed his Aunt May.

Actually, he missed talking to anybody who wasn't Norman Osborn.

His eyes welled up with tears as he tried to think about how long he'd been here... A week? Two weeks? A month?

Nah, it couldn't be that long. No way.

The tears trailed down his cheeks. He felt embarrassed when Osborn tutted and rested his ankle on the bed again. The man was standing by his side then, offering him the straw once more and wiping tears from his cheeks with a kleenex.

“Dick,” Peter managed, but it felt pretty lame and he began to sip a moment later. He frowned in thought. “'m I still on Fentanyl?”

“You're on a bit of a coctail at this point.”

Peter's jaw dropped and he stared at Osborn. “Are you serious? You just loaded me up with drugs?” The whiny note crept back into his voice. “You can't just do that. You're going to make me sick!”

“I won't make you sick, Pe- shit. Ana. I promise.”

“Fentanyl is for end stage cancer patients,” Peter blinked. “I learned that in um... Gwen told me that, actually.”

Then he bit his lip. He shouldn't tell Norman about Gwen. But... he already knew about Gwen didn't he? Peter turned his face away, hating himself for drinking Osborn's water.

“Fentanyl _is_ a very powerful narcotic.”

Peter's eyes widened and he stared up at Osborn from under his eyebrows.

“Osborn.”

“Mm hm?”

“Did you get this _legally?_ ” he whispered.

Peter had no idea why Osborn looked so amused as the older man tucked him in.

“You're going to _jail_.” Peter insisted. “It's a _controlled substance._ ”

“Of course.”

“I'm _serious_ , Osborn. Do you _wanna_ go to prison?”

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” a hand brushed through his hair. Peter sighed heavily.

“I'm tired of sleeping. I don't... I don't want to sleep anymore,” the tears were returning and he blinked angrily. He couldn't think clearly. This wasn't right at all.

“Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning.” He felt a kiss pressed to his temple and scowled, trying to jerk his head away again, but his neck was stiff so he winced.

“Shh, settle down. Get some sleep... I'll be back later.”

'Go away,' Peter thought, closing his eyes. He just wanted to... he just wanted to dream about Gwen.

 

* * *

 

“And Operation Mancave is live,” Tony whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Steve asked.

“I don't know!” Tony smiled, looking sheepish. “Just... secret spy stuff! I don't get to do this much. I hope there's a secret door involved.”

“Secret... door?” Steve lifted an eyebrow.

“I have installed _at least_ ten secret doors in this tower. Some of which, while I was inebriated. So even _I_ don't know how many secret doors there are.”

“Yeah I found your beer cave the other day,” Natasha said.

“ _What!_ Wait, which one?”

“Technically we're not following SHIELD protocol,” Clint muttered into his earpiece. “This is totally not kosher in the field of secret spy stuff.”

“Hey, don't misuse kosher. I'm offended.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Natasha grumbled. “You're not even Jewish.” She was already in position on the roof of the building, having already taken out the camera on the roof. “Anyway, SHIELD's gone.”

“Yeah because you _killed it_ , you murderer!” Tony called. “And you put Cap's dirty laundry all over the internet.”

“Yes, my affair with my Netflix subscription,” Steve sighed. “Romanoff, how could you?”

“I'm not sorry, Rogers.”

“Weren't you living next door to a totally hot nurse?” Tony frowned.

“The hot nurse turned out to be Agent Thirteen,” Steve explained.

“Ah! So you admit you find Peggy Carter's niece hot?” Natasha said.

The captain blushed and Wade snickered.

“All in the family, eh, Spangles?” Tony grinned.

"Can we stay focused?" Steve crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Okay peanut gallery. I'm walking into the building,” Clint said softly.

“Achievement unlocked: In Da House!” Deadpool sang.

“Hey, can you not... lean on that?”

Tony scowled. Deadpool had his hands on the worktable. They were in Tony's lab; despite the engineer's discomfort, Wade was allowed in to keep up with developments on “Operation Spidey Rescue.”

“I'm telling you, he's in there!” Wade pointed at the ceiling. JARVIS was playing Clint's communications over his own speakers. “I can just feel the plot developing!”

“You're part of this, aren't you,” Tony said flatly. “Nat's probably right.”

“Nope. I just have this thing where I know shit cause I'm _awesome_ like that.”

“I'll kill him if he's in on it, so it's okay,” Natasha said into her earpiece.

“Let's focus,” Steve held up a hand, cutting off Deadpool's reply. “Please.”

“Wow. No one's checked my ID,” Clint said. “There was a lady at the front desk – she totally just smiled at me. Ok, heading into Cambridge's office...”

“How does it feel to be ugly?” Wade asked. Steve sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

“It's a totally new feeling for me,” Clint sounded smug. “A little overwhelming.”

Tony snorted. “Confident are we?”

“Hey, just saying! Archery keeps you fit. Whoa, whoever this guy is he has a nice office. Looks all modern.”

“221 right?” Natasha asked.

“Yep. Room 221,” They waited in silence, listening. “Aw, _gee,_ it's _locked_.”

The others chuckled.

 

* * *

 

Clint stepped into the office, examining the room. Desk, bookshelf, chair, laptop – all very plain and unremarkable.

“Okay, this office looks like every other office I've ever seen. The fancy windows and door lied.”

“Totally _Dilbert_ , right?” Tony visibly shuddered and Steve frowned.

“Dilbert?”

“Jesus,” Wade looked to Stark. “You haven't shown this man _Dilbert_ yet?”

“What is a dilbert?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds inappropriate,” Deadpool said.

"Next question for three hundred points," Tony interjected. "What is a dilbert?"

“It's a comic strip about office jobs,” Clint was trying not to laugh has he moved the laptop and opened it. He got it on to the login screen, then stuck the USB Stark had given him into the port.

“Okay, fancy USB is in.” He watched as the little light on it began to blink.

“E-e-excellent,” Tony steepled his fingers dramatically. “Okay, Jarvs. Let's see what Dr _Cambridge_ keeps on his laptop.”

“Searching...”

As Clint watched, the screen went to the desktop. A window opened to the usual computer directory search and he watched as files opened and closed.

“Is this show for my benefit?” Clint asked.

“Yes,” JARVIS replied. “As well as Sir's." 

At the tower, screens had opened up in front of each of the men, in the lab including Deadpool, displaying JARVIS's search.

“Any porn yet?” Wade asked.

“Can you _try_  not to be ridiculous for five minutes?” Tony asked.

“I could ask you the same thing, Tony,” Steve smirked. Tony's eyes narrowed at the captain.

“Nice,” Clint said. “Okay. I'm gonna go old-school and search the room while JARVIS does the whole mainframe hacking thing.”

“Secret dooor,” Tony sang softly. “Try grabbing the books! Ooh or maybe there's a wall panel..." 

“It appears he has a file containing receipts of purchases for hormone treatments.” JARVIS said.

“What kinds of... oh, hello! Is Dr Cambridge considering a sex change?” Tony lifted an eyebrow as the screens displayed the list of chemicals.

“Think his insurance covers that?” Wade mused, kicking his heels up on the table, crosssing them at the ankle.

Tony scowled, then looked at DUM-E.

“Psst! DUM-E. Deadpool is on fire!”

“I doubt it,” Clint was saying. “The insurance thing, I mean.” Then, “What the-” as he heard Wade shouting in the background.

“That's what you get for putting your feet up on my table!” Tony was calling.

“But you do that all the time,” Steve was laughing as Wade tried to grab the fire extinguisher from DUM-E.

“Did you light Deadpool _on fire?_ ” Clint made a face as he rifled through the desk drawers. Tissues, pens, pencils, a notebook... He flipped through the small notebook but found nothing in it.

“No, Agent Barton. It was an imaginary fire that DUM-E tried to put out,” Tony chuckled as he explained.

I've found something odd.” The AI opened another file. “It looks like a list of names.”

“Names?” Tony looked back to his augmented screen, distracted as Deadpool climbed on top of DUM-E's mechanical arm; both refusing to release the extinguisher.

“Hey! Hey, DUM-E! I said _Deadpool_ is on fire, not the wall!”

“They're women's names,” Steve eyed the document. “Anna, Petra, Ara...”

“God, Petra's an awful name,” Tony made a face.

“Hey,” Clint protested. “I knew a girl named Petra and she was super cool.”

Deadpool had finally given up after being flung like a cowboy from a rodeo bull and crashing into a pile of scrap metal.

“I'm okay! By the way, this lab is really unsafe.”

“My lab is state of the art,” Tony replied, glancing at the pile of scrap. "DUM-E, I thought I told you to put that stuff in recyc.”

The bot made sounds of protest as it put the extinguisher back in place.

“Uh-uh! Don't talk back to me, young man!”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “I can't believe _Deadpool_ just told you your lab is unsafe.”

“The funny part is that it's totally true,” Natasha murmured.

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you two saying this,” Tony sniffed.

“Wow, he's really been thinking about these names,” Steve touched the augmented screen, finger waving in mid air as he scrolled down the list. “If these are in fact, names for him transitioning.”

“Well you're up to date on social things,” Tony looked impresssed.

Steve smiled a little. “Natasha- anyone out there?”

“Nope. Just regular lab types coming into work and heading home. All kinds of weird hours at this place.”

“Now here's something very interesting,” JARVIS said. “Sir, I just searched the network and it looks like information on research is being shared. The research appears to be on the synthesis of certain hormones by a particular species of arachnid.”

“Wha-at? Okay, call Bruce for me because I'm pretty sure that makes zero biological sense. Do spiders even _have_ hormones?”

“This is getting weird,” Clint said, now searching the bookshelves. None of the books seemed to be hiding any surprises. He even searched the vents, but found nothing.

“Yeah,” Bruce sounded tired. He was in his own lab on the other side of the building. “What's going on?”

“Spiders. Do they have hormones?”

“What?” Bruce frowned. “I... Is this a trivia question?”

“Dr Bruce Banner, for ten thousand dollars, do spiders have hormones?” Deadpool launched into an announcer voice. “Remember, you can call a friend if you need to!”

“I'm the one calling a friend,” Tony said. “And yes, it looks like... human hormones being synthesized by _spiders?_ ”

“Spiders... I'm not sure,” Bruce admitted. “I helped Peter with some of his research... I'd say yes they do have hormones, but I don't know if they're capable of processing human hormones. Send me the research notes, JARVIS?”

“Of course, Dr Banner.”

“I can take a look and see what we're dealing with. What else did you find?”

“This guy's been ordering hormones for himself in serious bulk – blockers and estrogen? We also found a list of female names.”

“Well that's odd. The question is are the hormones in the research the same as the ones Cambridge is ordering for himself?”

“It would appear so,” JARVIS mused.

“So he's kinda like Norman Bates now?” Wade wondered. 

“That was actually a good, but twisted joke. If in fact, we are dealing with Norman Osborne,” Tony noted. “Good job, weird crazy guy.”

“Thanks! I try.”

“Who is Norman Ba – oh forget it,” Steve said.

“Yeah, you're not old enough for that movie yet, Spangles.”

“ _What?_ ” Steve rolled his eyes. “Nevermind.”

“It's starting to look like we're dealing with someone who isn't completely – oh shit!” Clint hissed into his earpiece as the door knob began to wiggle. He was just glad he'd locked the office door behind him. He quickly shut the laptop and snatched the USB from it.

“What is it?” Natasha spoke.

“Somebody's coming in. Party's over guys!”

“Ooh! Tell him I liked Willem Dafoe better than Chris Cooper!” Deadpool scrambled to sit up. He was still on the floor. 

“What are you talking about?” Tony made a face.

“Actors? _Movies?_ ”

Everyone ignored him so he groaned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Wade :) Nobody ever believes him. Well he's only wrong about the fact that they're in comics; 'cause they're in a fanfiction!


	11. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers and Deadpool discover who "Dr Cambridge" really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued comments and support. I'm sorry I don't respond to everyone, mainly because I just have a lot of other stuff going on – uni and other fics I'm working, etc.   
> But know that I appreciate my readers! :)   
> I am not a combat expert nor have I ever been trained in a martial art. So I hope my combat descriptions are understandable! totally open to any writing advice, by the way :)

Clint made a split decision and pushed himself up against the wall behind the door a few moments before it opened. Fortunately Cambridge wasn't paying attention to the way the door pressed up against something rather than hitting the wall as he swept into the office. Holding his breath, Clint stepped around the door behind him and scurried into the hall. He waited to hear someone call after him, but Cambridge hadn't noticed.

“Oh thank god,” he breathed when he encountered no one else and hurried around a corner.

“Hey JARVIS, search Willem Dafoe on IMDb!” Deadpool demanded.

“Ignore him, JARVIS,” Tony said.

“I'm trying, sir,” the AI responded.

“Man! This is some bullshit!”

“Lang-” Steve cut himself off but not quickly enough. He rolled his eyes as Tony snickered at him.

“Dad came home, Clint?” Natasha mused.

“Yep. Looks like he's in his office for now. I'm gonna scope out the basement.”

“Dr Cambridge!” He stopped as a young woman called out to him.

“Ohh snap,” Clint muttered under his breath as he turned to see a familiar face.

“Is she hot?” Deadpool asked.

“Because that's really important right now,” Natasha sighed.

“Ms Stacy!” Clint couldn't help but feel his eyes bulge. “Ah, how can I help you?”

Steve's eyes widened. “Gwen Stacy is working at this facility?” He looked toward the ceiling. “JARVIS, why didn't you mention this?”

“Yeah, that is kind of significant, buddy,” Tony raised his eyebrows. “JARVIS, what happe-e-ened?”

“I'm sorry, Sir. I do believe it came up in an earlier conversation that Ms Stacy was working for Oscorp but the exact location where she reports to work is not available on her file.”

“That's also odd...” Natasha said.

“The plot thickens,” Wade muttered. Then “Ooh, foreshadowing!”

Natasha eyed him, frowning.

 

Gwen Stacy stared at Clint, her eyebrow raising skeptically.

“Um... you asked me to bring you the results of those samples, earlier.”

“Oh! Oh, right! Yeah,” he took the folder she handed him. “Thank you, Ms Stacy.”

“Gwen.”

“Hm?”

“You haven't called me Ms Stacy since we first met,” she let out a soft laugh. “But thanks!”

“ _Does she look like Emma Stone?_ ” Deadpool asked, ennunciating each word. “Just tell me that!”

“Thank you, Ms Stacy. Now if you'll excuse me...” Clint nodded to her and slipped by. Gwen looked befuddled but shrugged and headed back into the lab she'd just exited.

“Okay, I am actually curious, who is Emma Stone?” Tony asked. “JARVIS?”

“Apparently she is an actress, sir. She starred in the film _Zombieland_ as Wichita and has recently been in-”

“I don't remember that movie,” Clint muttered.

“Oh, Dr Cambridge!”

Clint stopped and turned to glance over his shoulder.

“Uh, yes Gwen?”

“Do you need me to stay after again tonight?” Gwen wondered. “I um, I was hoping to leave early.”

“Ah, let me get back to you on that!” He turned and hurried away.

“Dick move. You should have just given her the night off,” Deadpool said.

“Yeah and then later on another me tells her she's in deep shit for skipping out on work?” Clint shook his head. “Deadpool, remind me again why you're not in intelligence?”

“Go ahead and give her the night off. Tell her you changed your mind,” Natasha said.

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Natasha?” Steve frowned.

“Spidey senses flaring?” Deadpool said. “Oh, sorry, I mean Widow senses. Meh, still Spidey senses.”

Natasha clenched her teeth. When she spoke, her voice was very low and very calm.

“I swear if it turns out you're in on this-”

“Okay, I'm doin it,” Clint turned around and hurried back to the door he'd seen Gwen Stacy return to. “I trust your instincts.”

“Spider lady senses,” Wade was tapping his chin in thought.

“Miss, uh, Gwen?” Clint leaned into the door of the lab. The young woman was sitting on a stool at a counter when she looked up. There was a small terrarium resting on the counter in front of her with a spider in it.

“Doctor?”

“I think I'll go ahead and let you go home.”

She frowned, eyes narrowing as she considered him. For a second, Clint was about to be nervous. Then she shrugged.

“Okay. Thank you. I'll just finish up this feeding then?”

“Sure. Go ahead.” He turned around quickly and hurried back down the hall to the basement. “Okay, I think I see the door to the stairwell. You said the door leading to the basement -”

“Should be to your right,” Natasha replied. Steve could hear her exhale slowly. “Heads up – I think there are guards on duty.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Clint saw a small box on the door that required a key to open. Glancing around to make sure he was alone in the hallway, he picked the lock, then found a touch screen requiring an access code.

“Time to play Inspector Gadget,” He announced, setting Tony's small device on the touch screen. The screen went completely black, then green as he watched.

“Working on it,” JARVIS explained.

“Doobe doobe doo, Inspector Gadget,” Tony sang quietly. “Oh JARVIS?”

The AI sighed and a snippet of the theme song from the cartoon began to play.

Steve made a face, then raised an eyebrow at Tony. “Really?”

“Go Gadget go!” Wade was doing the Running Man in the background.

The door clicked open a moment later and Clint sighed.

“Nice,” he whispered as he stepped into an airconditioned stairway.

A guard stood behind the door, wearing a dark navy suit. He nodded to them.

“Good afternoon, Dr Cambridge.”

Clint made a non commital grunt and headed down the hall to his right.

“Okay, definitely going underground,” he murmured. “Uh, and that guy was wearing a Hydra pin.”

“Wait, what?” Steve's eyes widened and he straightened up. “ _Hydra_ and Oscorp?”

“Makes a weird kind of sense,” Tony shrugged. “Although geez, I really thought they had a little more class than that.”

“Yeah, Oscorp just _screams_ classy,” Deadpool said. “With that whole evil corporation-”

“I was talking about Hydra actually.”

“Are you _sure_ it was a Hydra pin?” Steve shook his head. None of this made any sense to him. Spider hormones, a possible transgender doctor with no research papers under their belt, a new facility, Gwen Stacy working at said new facility... It certainly all pointed to Peter Parker. But where was he? And _what was going on?_

“I'm positive. Whoop. Just passed another guard. Also wearing a Hydra pin. Oh and he said “Hail Hydra” and did the whole fist raisy thing.”

“Hydra kids, hydra wife, hydra kids, hydra wife... and hydra husband, cause they-”

“Wilson, please shut up.”

“You don't have to come and confess, we lookin' for-”

“Wilson!” Steve and Natasha both said at the same time. Tony was hiding his face behind a hand.

“Well even if this isn't where Peter is, there's definitely something really weird going on with Oscorp,” Tony said.

“I'll say,” Clint muttered as he turned around a corner. “Okay, I'm getting saluted by every guy I pass. This Cambridge guy must be big.”

Steve's brow furrowed deeply. Then his eyes widened, brows rising.

“What if... what if it's not Peter but... He could be here.”

“Steve?” Natasha frowned.

“It's Oscorp. They... they do research on all kinds of things, don't they? Not just arachnids.”

Deadpool frowned. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh! _You're_ looking for-”

“Steve,” Natasha repeated and her voice was sympathetic this time.

“You're right. I'm sorry. We need to focus on finding Peter.”

“Hey, you guys go look for Spidey, I can go find Cap's bruh-” Deadpool looked around and received a raised eyebrow from Tony.

“Nice try.”

“Look, if anybody can find a guy with a metal arm, it's me. I'm a merc. He's a... a brainwashed assassin guy. We're practically in the same field, kinda.”

Steve was glaring at him. “Bucky is _nothing_ like a mercenary.”

“Okay, okay!” Deadpool held his hands up. “Easy, big guy. I said field, not occupation. I mean, no, a guy who kills mindlessly for Hydra isn't _at all_ like-”

“Wilson, _shut up_. Clint, are you finding anything?” Natasha asked.

“Uh...” He slowed as he reached another door on the right side of the hallway, followed by a dead end. He didn't respond as there was a guard standing immediately opposite the door.

“Must be busy,” Steve reasoned.

The archer looked at the door, putting his hand on the latch to find that there was another box with a keyhole and probably a touch screen under that, requiring a pass code. He froze for a moment, then groaned.

“Damn it!” He said, turning to look at the guard. “I forgot something in my car,” he pulled keys from his pocket and held them out. “It's a box of supplies. Do you mind going and getting it for me?”

The guard frowned, then shrugged, taking the keys. “I guess. Uh, which car is it?”

“Black Nissan. Back seat.”

“Sure. I'll be back in a second, sir.” The man nodded, then hurried down the hallway, Clint breathed more easily. “Okay guys, we got another access code here,” he mumbled, glancing down the hall to where another guard was waiting at the corner. Shit. “Hold on a sec.”

He waited a few moments, sliding a hand into the wig he was wearing and pretending to look confused. “Shit!” He looked up at the guard down the hall. “Hey! Can you go after that guy and tell him I need something out of my trunk?”

The guard at the corner frowned. “He's already-”

“Just go tell him I need this bag from my trunk!”

“Ah, all right. Sir.” The guard began to head down the hallway toward the exit and Clint was alone. He quickly picked the lock on the box, then put Stark's gizmo on the touchscreen. After a few moments, the door was opened.

“Sweet!” He snatched the device back and slipped in, shutting the door behind him. “Sorry, I had to get rid of some guys... I'm in a lab now. Whoa. Pretty serious set up.”

“Yeah, I saw them approaching your car,” Natasha replied.

“Did you really give them your car keys?” Deadpool raised an eyebrow.

“Uh. Yeah. It's cool – I actually do have a box and a bag in my car. Wow, this is a _crazy_ set up... I've got my phone out, I'm filming. Do you see, this JARVIS?”

“I am picking up your feed, yes, Agent Barton,” JARVIS responded. He opened a screen that Tony, Steve, and Wade gathered around. Tony made a face and leaned away from the merc.

“That does look serious.”

“Looks medical. Brucie, are you getting this?”

“I am. JARVIS is showing me in my lab.”

“Whoa...” Clint turned to film a wall of glass, two doors in the middle. He peered through it. “Like some kind of... underground...”

“It looks like an atrium,” Bruce noted.

“That's so interesting,” Natasha said. “But your minions are coming back, so hurry.”

“I had minions once,” Wade sighed. “Bob and Weasel and Blind Al. They were a pain in the ass though.”

“Okay. Um...” Clint turned to look at the other door in the lab. “I don't see anybody in the atrium,” he glanced through the glass wall again, then walked over to the door on the wall adjacent to the doors leading to the atrium. He peeked through a window on the door and his eyes bulged.

“Hey,” Wade mused. “How come heroes have sidekicks but villains-”

“Oh my _god_. _It's him!_ ”

“Is that...” Tony peered.

“Peter!” Steve gripped the table in front of him harder, eyes wide.

“You found him?” Natasha stepped back into the door that allowed people to access the roof, hurrying down the stairs.

“Yep. He's in some kind of hospital set up. Bed and all. He's unconscious. We're gonna need evac.”

“I'll just take care of the guards then,” Natasha whistled and opened the door at the bottom of the stairs leading into the building's second floor. She peeked through it, then slipped down the hallway, moving as quickly as possible. She had a mask and wig on herself, so she wasn't too concerned about being recognized.

“We're on our way,” Steve said.

“JARVIS, get the quinjet ready if you will.”

“Already warming her up, sir.”

Tony stood, stepping away from the others and activating the bracelet he was wearing. Pieces of his suit began to fly toward him, attaching themselves to his body.

“Let's tear this dickhole a new one. And don't tell me to watch my language, Spangles!”

Steve was already hurrying to the combat ready room to grab his uniform and shield.

“Aw yeah,” Deadpool grinned, giving two thumbs up. “Fightin' with the good-”

“Uh. You're not going anywhere,” Tony said. “Loathe as I am to-”

“Actually, he could come along,” Natasha mused. “We might need his skills.”

“Are you... are you serious?” Tony asked. “Cap, are you getting this?”

Steve hadn't fitted an earpiece in yet but JARVIS opened an augmented reality screen showing the captain's head and shoulders as he began to pull his armor on over his t-shirt.

“I am. And it's Hydra, so yes, we _could_ use the additional back up.”

“YES!” Deadpool threw his fists up. “Fighting with the _Avengers!_ I won't let you down, Cap! ”

“I'm reading that as 'It's Hydra, so I don't care if the crazy guy slashes them to pieces,” Tony said, grunting when the groin piece connected to his pelvis.

“Looks like we understand each other, Stark,” Steve said lightly.

“No more Mr Nice Cap, huh? I see.”

“When was I _ever_ Mr Nice Cap to _Hydra?_ How is throwing a vibranium shield at people nice? Or... or destroying their bunkers?”

“I thought we generally drew the line at being lethal.” Natasha pointed out.

“Okay. Wilson?”

“Yes, Cap?”

“Don't kill them.”

“But! What!”

“But feel free to remove as many fingers and toes as you need to.”

“Spangles!” Tony admonished after a dramatic gasp.

“Ooh! What about arms and legs?” Wade asked, following Stark into the elevator that would take them both to the roof. 

 

* * *

 

Clint stood over Peter, checking him over for injuries. He winced at the bruises he saw, feeling Peter's throat for a pulse as he glanced at the heart monitor.

“He's stable.”

“We've got a problem,” Natasha murmured, around the corner of the hallway from the door leading to the basement. “Cambridge is coming your way.”

Clint made a hum of acknowledgement as he eyed the IV line leading into Peter's arm.

“Shit. I hear you.”

Natasha slipped into the basement door right after the real Cambridge, staying directly behind him as he moved to unlock the box on the door and then typed in the access code. As soon as the door was open and he stepped through, she followed, then jammed her widow bites into the top of his shoulders. He went rigid before whirling and slamming her against the door.

He sneered at her wide eyes.

“Trying to break in? You've picked the _wrong_ person to steal from.”

She was only surprised for a moment before ramming her knee up into his chest. He grunted but didn't release her, so she grabbed the arm he was pinning her with, put both feet in the center of his chest and kicked him off of her. He stumbled back and she kicked him in the chest, knocking him back even further.

He was the wide eyed one now and then his eyes narrowed. He slipped his hand into a pocket and she tensed, expecting a gun.

“One of his friends, are you?”

“Whose friends?” she tilted her head.

“Don't play stupid,” he hissed but she could see the panic beginning to grow in his eyes. “You're the Widow, aren't you?”

“I don't know why you would say that,” she smiled and kicked at him again, driving him toward the stairs behind him. She kicked at his face, narrowly avoiding his arms which were moving unnaturally fast to block her. Natasha managed to land a kick on his face. She stared when his face warped and he cursed at her.

He peeled the mask off with a sneer.

“Fine,” he spat, throwing it at her feet. “Let's be honest, shall we?”

“Nah,” she said and attacked him again, this time trying to take his feet out from under him.

Two guards entered the door, holding Clint's box and duffel bag. They froze as they saw Osborn faced with Natasha. The scientist snarled.

“Why did you _leave your posts?_ ”

They frowned at him, looking at eachother.

“You told us to go get-”

“ _Shoot her!”_

The guard holding the box looked with eyes wide as Natasha whirled toward him, leaping up to wrap her thighs around his neck and whipping her body around to slam her torso into his companion's chest.

She leapt up and dropped two devices, one on each of the men, and the two convulsed as currents ran through them. Then she turned to face Osborn.

He had already called two more guards from further down the hallway and they ran to her as Osborn brushed past them, toward the lab.

“He's heading your way!” She shouted as she ran toward the guards, stepping up on to the nearest one's knee to kick him in the face, then pouncing off of him as he fell to the ground and jamming her widow bites into the second guard's neck. He groaned as he fell, body twitching. She hurried down the hall after Osborn.

“On your way, guys? We're dealing with an enhanced human and he's _way_ stronger than I am.”

“Osborn,” Deadpool nodded as he plopped down into a seat on the quinjet. “Glad we get to skip the whole Scooby Doo unmasking moment.”

Tony scowled in his helmet. He was already flying to the location upstate, not waiting for the quinjet to take off.

“So does this mean Deadpool dies?”

“No. But it does mean I'll try my very best unless he has an explanation,” Natasha flung another current disc after Osborn. He snarled as it shocked him, but he turned and kicked it away, cursing her before hurrying on. “Clint, how many of these idiots did you pass?”

“Uh, like, six?”

“I just took out four. So we've got two left- oop, here they are.” The sound of shots firing followed over the communicator. Steve, sitting in the cockpit of the quinjet, grit his teeth.

“What's ol Oz doing with Hydra anyway?” Deadpool wondered.

“We'll have time to ask him that after we're done beating him into the ground,” Steve said as he piloted the quinjet into the sky, turning toward upstate New York.

“Little help here!” Natasha was panting. “It's getting busy!”

“Coming!” Clint swore as he left Peter's side with a last backward glance, then hurried to the door, pulling his bow from his back.

He found Natasha in the hallway closest to the basement exit, dealing with the remaining Hydra guards and an infuriated Osborn. Now that the man's mask had been ripped off, Clint could see that it was really him. As he kneeled around the corner where the hallway turned right from the basement and drew an arrow across his bow, Natasha was thrown bodily down the hall.

“Jesus, has he always been this strong?” He asked as she quickly recovered and pulled two small discs from her belt to fling them at the two guards heading toward her. She'd knocked them down but they'd gotten back up while Osborn was keeping her busy. One went down as the current connected with his body, the other leaping back, then aiming his pistol.

Clint shot the guard in the shoulder, disabling him and Natasha lunged, sliding across the floor to take out his legs with her feet. She was then up again, Clint covering her as she faced Osborn once more.

“Useless idiots,” Osborn hissed, pulling out his own weapon and aiming at Natasha. “You're not the only one with _bites!_ ”

He fired a dart that she dodged before whipping around, grabbing his wrist and elbow, aiming his own gun to his chest. She realized then that it was a dart gun of some kind. He struggled, cursing her and trying to turn it away before wrapping one of his own legs around hers, attempting to trip her. She dropped, pulling him down with her, twisting her body so that she slammed him into the wall. He snarled and raised his legs, kicking her away from him.

Clint was trying to shoot the man with a tranquilizer, but they were fighting so closely that he couldn't hit Osborn without hitting Natasha.

Osborn seemed aware of this and stayed behind her in the hall, toward the door. She tried to bait him closer, but he backed away each time she struck out, firing darts at her.

He grabbed her ankle as she kicked up at his wrist – attempting to knock the weapon from his hand again – only to find her suddenly on his back, arms tightening around his neck.

“Do it!” she shouted. Clint had a clear shot.

Clint fired, but Osborn turned suddenly and Natasha was struck instead, right in the back.

“ _Ow_ , Clint!”

“Shit! Sorry!”

She adjusted her arms, sliding a garrote from her sleeve. She pulled it tightly across the man's throat.

He threw himself backward, slamming her into the floor, but she kept her grip. He clawed, grabbing her wrists and yanking hard. Natasha cursed as she felt a wrist bone give. She could still hold but it was agony. He squeezed to crush her other wrist completely, but she was already going slack.

The tranquilizer was doing its work.

He flung her off of himself and ran, fleeing the lab. Clint fired after him but his arrow struck the door, Osborn gone.

“Shit! Fuck!” Clint ran to Natasha. “Guys! Guys?” He called desperately. “I got two people down. Osborne's gone. Peter's still unconscious and now, well, so is Nat. Shit.”

He fell to his knees, sliding his bow back in place on his back and pulling Natasha's up onto his lap by sliding his hands under her arms.

“Yello, this is Iron Man, on my way. Which direction did Osborn head in?”

“Uh, he took the northeast basement exit into the first floor. I don't know where he's headed...”

“Copy that. I'm almost there.”

“Nat? Nat! Shit...” He picked her up, one arm behind her back, the other behind her knees and carried her back into the lab. He would be able to guard her and Peter better there.

 

* * *

 

Clint rested Natasha on a metal examination table. It wouldn't be as comfortable as the bed, but he couldn't really do anything about that. He checked her pulse, then removed the tranquilizer arrow from her back. He cursed and stuck it back into his quiver, then stroked hair back from her face.

“Shit, I'm sorry, Nat.”

Clint began to look around for something to offer as a pillow to his unconscious teammate. His eyes settled on Peter and he sighed, stepping into the hospital set-up room to look more closely at him.

“Peter?” He touched the boy's cheek gently. “God, you're bruised all over.”

Clint shook his head, checking the kid's pulse. He looked at the IV bag hooked up to the boy's arm with a frown. He didn't know what exactly he was looking at so he decided not to touch it yet. Stark would probably know better what to do. He read the bag's label but didn't recognize some of the chemicals listed on it.

“Jesus...” He took a picture of the label on his phone and sent it to Tony.

“Huh? What is this? Hawkeye?” Tony's voice had the tinny quality of being in the suit.

“Agent Barton sent you a picture, Sir. It looks like an IV bag containing a mixture of fentanyl along with midazolam,” JARVIS explained. “As well as various hormones.”

“Well,” Tony sniffed. “At least he labels his shit. Can't fault a mad scientist who follows proper procedures. Safety first, kid!”

Natasha groaned on the table and Clint glanced anxiously back at her.

“Can you shut up and explain what this means?” he demanded. “Should I take the IV out?”

“Oh god, yes, take it out already.”

“Thank you,” Clint rolled his eyes. After slipping his phone away, he carefully began to remove the needle from the port on Peter's arm. “Any suggestions while I'm waiting for you guys?”

“Don't touch anything pointy?”

“Thanks a lot, Stark.”

“Is this really the time to be joking?” Steve snapped.

“Calm down, Spangles. Sounds like Clintasha have everything under wraps.”

“Clintasha?” The archer made a face as he examined the port on Peter's arm. There was bruising around it, but then there was bruising all over his frame. He began to search Peter for any signs of lacerations or... stitches. He shuddered at the possibility but it was something that needed to be considered.

“Oh yeah, they definitely have everything under wraps,” Wade said. “Barton didn't just tranq his own teammate or anything.”

“Fuck off, Wade,” Clint said, a note of strain in his voice. He gave Natasha's body another guilty glance.

“Iron Man has arrived,” Tony said with weary cheer. “Looks like somebody pulled the alarm and the building's being evacuated.”

“Osborn. Probably covering his own ass,” Clint swore. “Do you see him?”

“Searching...” Tony turned his faceplate down toward the crowd, JARVIS scanning via facial recognition. “No sign of him.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Wonderful. He's probably gone.”

“I can search the building.”

“Go ahead to the basement and contain any Hydra you encounter,” the captain instructed.

“Aw, but I was gonna carry Romanoff out all heroic like.”

“I'm pretty sure she'd never forgive me if I let you do that,” Clint murmured. He was trying to figure out how to deactivate the mag cuffs. Clint had seen them before, having worked for SHIELD. “Stark, you designed the mag cuffs, right? The ones SHIELD used?”

“Yep. Do I need to bust somebody out?”

“Yeah. Peter's wearing them.”

“Shit. On my way...”

“Can I still slice the Hydra agents?” Wade stage whispered to the captain who gave him a wry look.

“Only if they _don't cooperate,_ ” Steve told him as he landed the quinjet behind the building. “Go forth and contain them.”

“Ayiyiyiyi!” Deadpool cheered, pulling out his katanas.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, Peter is rescued. What's that you say? I said Peter would fully transition before he was rescued?   
> Well I sort of lied. Or I didn't lie but it just made sense for him to be rescued here. But keep in mind the story is not over yet. *maniacal laughter*


	12. Debrief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers want to know what Osborn was up to but Peter would rather take the memories of what happened to his grave. Osborn hasn't given up either.

“You're my good girl. My sweet Ana,” He was whispering to Peter, stroking his hair. Peter's stomach twisted. He just wanted to be away from Osborn.

Osborn was shoving something into Peter's arm, into his vein. He yelled and kicked, lashing out, but his legs were locked in place with mag cuffs around his ankles. His arms were trapped too and suddenly he wasn't on the bed anymore, he was back on the table.

Osborn was shocking him and shocking him.

“You'll learn to be a good girl for me, Peter.”

He thrashed as lighting tore through his body. His brain felt like it was being seared in half and he tried to scream, but he couldn't. He thrashed harder and-

 

His eyes opened and he sat up, scrambling backward and bumping into a wall.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy, easy!” A female voice said. He found himself staring at a woman with dark red hair. It reminded him of the Black Widow's, but this wasn't Natasha Romanoff.

“Wha... Who... Who are you? Where am I?” he rambled, glancing around the room and blinking hard. He was on a hospital bed again, but everything was so bright here and... and nothing looked familiar. This was...

“Mr Parker, you're in Avenger's Tower, in Manhattan and the date is January 19th, 2015. The time is... let's see. Eleven twenty-four a.m.” The woman with red hair said after glancing to a clock on the far wall. She had a white coat on over a blue blouse and a tan skirt. A nametag was attached to her lab coat. “My name is Dr Angie Meyer and I work for Mr Stark.”

Peter stared at her for a few moment. Then he let out a breath and sagged againt the bed and the wall.

“Thank god,” he breathed, closing his eyes. He slowly reached up to touch his own face, pinching at his cheeks. “Oh my god, I'm really here.” He let out a weak laugh as he looked up at her, relief flooding his entire core. Something in his chest was untwisting for the first time in over a week.

“You said... It's... January nineteenth?” Oh shit. He'd missed... how many days of classes? Peter sat up, eyes wide. He needed to email his professors!

“Yes.”

“I-I-I need to... My aunt May! Oh god, my aunt May, she's gonna be really worried and-”

“It's okay, Mr Parker-”

“I need to call her- she's gonna freak! Who am I kidding? She's probably already freaked out!”

“We called her, Mr Parker.”

“Oh,” he sagged again, exhaling, her words sinking in. “You did?”

“Yeah. We did.” She smiled. “She's taking a nap in one of the guest suites if you'd like me to-”

“I'm here,” he looked over to see his aunt entering the room briskly. “The computer told me you woke up. Peter! Oh Peter, honey-”

“Aunt May,” he laughed, about to correct her and say that JARVIS wasn't just a computer, but it turned into a choking sound as she reached his bed and wrapped her arms around him. He groaned as the stiffness in his neck began to catch up to him. He wasn't in a brace anymore but it still hurt. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed back, but no too hard. He might have recovered some of his strength since he wasn't being drugged by Osborn anymore.

Osborn...

He let his aunt cover his face in kisses and squeeze him for a while, breathing in the smell of her shirt and trying not to cry. He would do that later.

He breathed deeply when she finally pulled back, still holding on to him.

“Oh Peter,” her eyes were wet as she stroked his hair. “I was so worried. I didn't hear from you for hours and I thought you'd just gone out and then the morning came-”

“I know Aunt May, I'm sorry,” he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. She put her own hand on it, her other hand cupping his cheek in turn. “I'm sorry. I know I scared you.”

“It's not your fault. Don't worry, we'll catch that bastard-”

“They didn't catch him?” Peter blinked as he began to feel dizzy. The room seemed to be turning slightly as if the world was rocking on its axis. He was thirsty too.

May's face fell and she shook her head.

“I'm sorry, hon. Oh, but Gwen will be so glad you're okay! I tried calling her but maybe she's tired. She's been working so hard lately. She was so worried about you – she wouldn't go to class or anything for days and finally I convinced her to go back.”

Peter nodded, closing his eyes tightly.

“Peter?” her voice softened.

“You might be dizzy still,” Dr Meyer said. “Osborn gave you a ridiculous amount of fentanyl along with other drugs we haven't yet identified. We've tried to wean you off the narcotics as best we can and Dr Banner is running an analysis on the chemicals found in your blood.”

“Thank you,” Peter told her quietly, then looked up at his aunt. “'M fine, Aunt May. Just... dizzy. Tired. Can I have some water?”

“Sure, hon,” his aunt kissed his forehead, and turned to Dr Meyer who walked over to a small fridge and pulled a bottle of water out. Peter looked around the large room, realizing it must be where the Avengers went for medical assistance. There were several different hospital beds with curtains hanging from the ceiling to seperate them for privacy.

He accepted the bottle of water with a soft 'Thanks' after his aunt opened it for him. Peter nearly drained the bottle, then gasped, closing his eyes again.

“That's much better,” he smiled at the two of them. He was no longer in the hospital gown Osborn had put him in and looking down, found he was wearing some of his own clothes. It made him feel better already.

“I brought some of your clothes as soon as they told me you were here and what happened. Mr Hogan came by the house to pick me up and Mr Stark's been so nice. He let me stay in one of his guest suites.”

“Where is... How did they find me?” he glanced between the two women.

“I don't know the whole story,” his aunt shrugged. “Something about a car accident and Harry Osborn hitting a deer.”

“Is he okay?” Peter frowned. He suddenly felt very worried about Harry – he couldn't know what a maniac his father was. He shivered suddenly, thinking of how he could still be trapped with Osborn if it wasn't for the Avengers. He really owed them his life. And he was probably in for a _huge_ lecture from Cap about personal safety.

“It wasn't a real accident, sweetheart,” she explained, her eyes softening as they took in Peter's bruises and healing body. He stretched his legs and tried to bend his right knee, wincing a little. He was still horribly sore and his head felt weird. “That was the story he gave the insurance company. I can't believe he covered for his father!” She sounded disgusted and Peter was about to speak up for Harry but fell silent. He knew how Norman Osborn could be and he wouldn't blame Harry for being afraid of his own father.

“Where are the others? The Avengers?”

“They're around the tower, I think. Do you want to talk to them? I can try calling Gwen again.”

Gwen. His heart swelled as he thought of seeing her smile again.

“Sure,” he smiled weakly. He blinked tiredly. “I need to thank them.”

“JARVIS?” Dr Meyer spoke, looking up toward the ceiling. “Could you notify Mr Stark that Mr Parker is awake? Though I think we should keep the visit short,” she told Peter. “You need your rest, Mr Parker.”

“I agree,” Aunt May smiled, ruffling his hair gently. There was still a lot of strain around her eyes and Peter felt sick. He'd done this to his poor Aunt. He swallowed.

“I have notified Sir already,” JARVIS intoned. “Would you like to speak with the Captain and the rest of the team as well, Mr Parker?”

“I would actually. I need to thank them. And thank you, JARVIS.” Maybe it was weird to thank an AI but he knew it was JARVIS who did a lot of the work piloting the Iron Man suits and arranging everything.

“You are very welcome, Mr Parker. You may not be a full Avenger, but you are nonetheless a valuable part of the team and Sir's friend.”

Peter blinked, swearing that his eyes were not wet.

“Aw. Thanks.” He said, smiling sheepishly.

His Aunt May squeezed his shoulder gently. “Here, lie back. Let's get your bed sitting up.” She found the remote and fiddled with it while Dr Meyer smiled at Peter.

“I'll go check on your file and see if the analysis is ready.” She turned then and went to an augmented screen floating in the air near a workspace.

“Thank you,” Peter told her quietly, letting his aunt guide him into a comfortable sitting position, arranging his pillow. He blushed when he saw the well worn blanket at his feet. “Aunt May!”

“What?” She followed his line of sight, then laughed. “Oh, don't judge me too hard. I just wanted to make sure you'd be warm.”

It was a fleece throw blanket he'd had since middle school when Cap first came out of the ice. His aunt had gotten him the blanket for Christmas, sort of as a joke – it had a pattern of Cap's shield all over it.

Peter rolled his eyes but smiled at his aunt and shook his head.

“The most advanced tower in the world and you're worried about me being warm?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Hey. Just because it's a fancy tower doesn't mean you can't have some things to make it feel more like home.”

He was honestly touched and he looked down at where he'd taken her hand in his; the veins were visible on it. Her hands were smooth and cool, but worn with care. He blinked against the moisture in his eyes, embarrassed, and inhaled deeply, turning his face away to wipe at his eyes discretely.

“Peter?”

“I'm fine,” he said quickly, forcing his lips into a small smile again. She would never know what Osborn had wanted to do to him. He would never, never tell her because it would keep her awake at night and the last thing May Parker needed was another reason to stay up worrying about her super hero nephew.

“I love you,” he told her quietly.

“I love you too,” Now her eyes were wet and she leaned in to kiss his cheek again.

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, everyone was gathered around Peter's bed, but not crowding him. His aunt May was the closest, still holding his hand.

Peter furrowed his brows as he saw Deadpool.

“Spidey!” The merc said as soon as they made eye contact. “I told them where you were, cause I figured it would be Osborn because I mean, who else right? Sure, it could have been Doc Ock, but he's not in the Amazing Spidey _movies_ , so I thought-”

“Wilson,” Steve gave him a pointed look. “Please.”

“ _Anyway_ , point is I was right! Please tell Widow not to kill me cause I'm not involved!” Wade's hands flailed and Peter fought a smile.

“Don't waste your time trying to kill him,” Peter looked to Natasha. “Also, I don't think Osborn could _stand_ him enough to be involved with him.”

“I know,” she said. “I did have some creative ideas to keep him out of comission. I still do.”

“We do have some questions for Deadpool,” Steve regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “But he proved that he has an alibi for the weeks before you were taken, so it's not likely he's involved with Hydra.”

“I was in Wakanda.” Deadpool nodded. “It's really nice this time of year, ya know.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Wakanda?” Then he frowned and looked to Steve. “Wait... did you say _Hydra_?”

“Yes,” Steve cleared his throat. “Osborn had men working for Hydra guarding his laboratory. How are you feeling, Peter?”

“I'm... okay. Tired. Dizzy.”

The Captain nodded, his eyes softening.

“I don't want to bother you with a lot of questions right now. I just wanted to ask: did Osborn say anything about his plans or mention Hydra while you were there?”

Peter glanced down at his knees. He looked up to see Dr Banner watching him closely. The doctor's lips stretched in a sympathetic smile and Peter stretched one corner of his mouth in response before looking down again.

“He... he wanted to...” He didn't know why but it was suddenly hard to speak.

“It's fine if you're not ready to talk about it,” Cap said quickly. “I don't mean to pressure you.”

“How did you guys find me?” He looked up, glancing to each of them.

“I stole your bff's iPad,” Deadpool raised a hand.

“'What?” Peter's face scrunched up. “My bff?”

“Harry Osborn's iPad,” Natasha rolled her eyes.

Tony was shaking his head. “Apple. _Yelch_. Figures an _Osborn_ would use an inferior product.”

Peter smiled a little, knowing Tony was trying to cheer him up.

Natasha gave Tony a look. “On his iPad, we found out about the new research center Oscorp recently built upstate.”

“Where he was keeping you,” Steve explained.

Oh, right. So that was why he was in the middle of _nowhere_ when he tried to escape.

“Cool,” Peter nodded. “Thank you all, by the way,” he looked at them each.

“Bah, it was nothin'!” Deadpool said. “I hardly got to poke anyone with my swords. Widow and Hawkeye had it all handled by the time we got there!”

“I had it handled before Clint shot me,” Natasha smirked at Clint who looked ashamed.

“I'm sorry!”

“You shot her?” Peter's eyes widened.

Clint groaned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose while Natasha chuckled.

“With a tranq gun. I was aiming for Osborn.”

“Oh. Too bad you didn't hit him. But uh, don't feel bad!” he added quickly, wincing. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” Clint smiled sheepishly. “It was my fault anyway.”

“It's okay, Barton. We all have our bad days,” Deadpool cracked his knuckles. Peter shuddered at the sound.

“Shut up, Wade,” Clint grumbled.

“Yeah we promise not to call you Butterfingers Barton,” Tony said. Even the Captain looked like he was trying not to smile.

“The chemical analysis is ready,” Bruce said quietly. “Though I think Peter probably doesn't want everyone in the room for that.”

“We should get out so you can talk to Dr Meyer anyway,” Tony said. “But good job wrecking Osborn's car, kid.”

Peter smiled a little. “Thanks, Mr Stark.”

“Geez, call me Tony.”

“Right.”

“Thank you all so much for helping Peter,” Aunt May spoke up, her eyes getting shiny again as she held Peter's hand and gently squeezed it. “You don't know how much it means.”

She started to choke up and Peter turned to her, frowning, and pulled her into a hug. He felt the team shift awkwardly.

“It's our job to defend the world from people like Norman Osborn,” Cap said. “And Peter's part of our team, even if we haven't yet cleared him for combat.”

May sniffled and wiped at her eyes, blushing. “I know. But I wouldn't have him back without you.”

Natasha's head was lowered slightly and she had a small smile on her face. Peter could tell she wasn't used to people thanking her. The others looked sheepish.

“Well we're glad to have him back too, Mrs Parker,” Steve told her before looking to Peter. “Get some rest. We can debrief later.”

The others began to file from the room, urging Peter to rest and recover or promising to come back and see him.

“I uh, I'm glad you're back, Spidey,” Deadpool had remained. He seemed kind of awkward suddenly, one hand rubbing at the back of his own neck and he glanced to Peter's aunt. Peter could see his eyes through slits in the mask this time; they were blue and looked painfully jaundiced.

Peter smiled a little. “Thanks, Wade. And thanks for um, being suspicious of Osborn, I guess.”

“Hah! Well I knew that guy wasn't dead. I mean, villains _don't die_ , duh! Or they _rarely_ do anyway.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Sure.” Something about Deadpool's words made something twist in his stomach, though. How had the merc guessed Osborn was still around? And why _had_ Peter thought he would really be rid of Norman Osborn so easily?

Not that it had been easy fighting Norman Osborn. He still shuddered at the memory of the Goblin, his glider crashing into the ground. Peter had to attend his funeral with Harry, hoping that his friend would never find out the truth.

“Well that's enough talking about that man for one evening, I think!” Aunt May spoke up. “And I don't think I've met you, Mr... Wade, was it?”

“Wade Wilson, ma'am!” Deadpool grinned and shot out a hand. She shook it, smiling and Peter almost rolled his eyes. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to hide a small smile. “It's an honor to meet Spidey's aunt.”

“Well thank you,” she smiled. “Are you uh, are you an Avenger?”

Peter coughed.

“Me? Oh! No, I'm... I'm a potential uh... I'm in a kind of erm... provisional period,” he winked at her. “You know. They're testing me out and all.”

“Well I'm sure rescuing Spider Man helped your chances!” She said. “I'd vouch for you!”

“Ah hah ha! Ahh...” Peter smiled at his aunt. “That's really sweet, Aunt May.”

“Well he helped save your _life_. He's a hero as far as I'm concerned.”

Deadpool seemed taken aback.

“Oh. Wow. Um. Thanks! I'm uh... I'm gonna go now...” he started to shuffle toward the door, glancing back toward Peter. “But uh, you get better, Spidey! And let me know if you want tacos or... or anything.” He cleared his throat and then hurried from the room. Peter could have sworn the guy was blushing.

He looked to his aunt who had raised both eyebrows.

“He's an odd one,” she said. “But he seems nice.”

“Yeah. He can be.” Peter was still trying not to smile as he looked to Dr Meyer. Then his humor began to fade.

Cap had mentioned a debrief later. They would all want to know what Osborn had wanted with him and if the scientist had mentioned his plans to Peter. He felt sick at the thought of telling them about...

He closed his eyes tightly against the memory of what had happened in the shower. He hadn't had much time to think about it as he'd been unconscious on and off for... how long exactly? A day? Two days?

That and his injuries and Osborn's rage and the electricity-

“Peter?” Aunt May was touching his shoulder. “Peter?”

“I'm fine,” he opened his eyes, shaking his head and swallowing. He didn't have to think about any of that and he was taking it to his grave. He shivered, trying to force the memory of Osborn's touch from his mind. He didn't have to tell the Avengers _everything_ , surely. He could just say that Osborn had wanted to perform weird experiments on him.

“Are you sure?” Dr Meyer said. “Are you in any pain?”

“No,” Peter shook his head. “Just tired. But um, you have the results?”

He needed to know what Osborn had done to him. Even if he didn't exactly want to hear it.

“The chemicals present in your blood were fentanyl, midazolam, an antiandrogen, and estrogen.”

Estrogen. Oh god, Osborn had already started using that on him?

“There were also trace amounts of something we haven't yet identified.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at that. Something unidentified? God only knew what that could be considering the resources and knowledge Osborn had.

“Nothing showed up on the analysis?” Peter's brows steepled in worry. Dr Meyer shook her head.

“Dr Banner is still working on figuring out what it is.”

“What is midazolam?” Aunt May made a face. “And what is an antiandrogen?”

“Midazolam is a sedative which in higher doses can render someone unconscious. It's usually used for anesthesia or procedural sedation. An antiandrogen blocks the receptors of hormones such as testosterone in the body.”

“Why would... why would Norman Osborn do that?” May stared at the doctor.

Peter felt a rush of panic. He shrugged, looking up at Dr Meyer who was watching him quietly before looking away again. She looked to his aunt, opening her mouth and then closing it.

“I feel like this is a very sensitive subject,” the doctor said after taking a breath. She looked to Peter before looking back to his aunt. “In combination with an antiandrogen, estrogen would be used to decrease male secondary sex characteristics and increase the appearance of female secondary sex characteristics.”

“Why...” Peter glanced up to see his aunt turn her gaze to him, questioningly. “Peter, what did that man say to you?”

He could feel what she really wanted to ask hanging in the air; what did he _do_ to you? He swallowed, his mouth feeling dry again suddenly. His stomach twisted and he shrugged again, looking down at the blanket.

“Um. He was crazy, aunt May. Is crazy. He was talking about... about trying to... About turning me into a girl.”

He scoffed and very carefully did not look up at her for a few moments. Then he glanced up.

She was staring at him with a look he didn't recall seeing before. She looked... sad. Like she had the night Uncle Ben died.

“Is that what he tried to do?” She looked up at the doctor and back to Peter. “Did he... did he hurt you?”

“No!” Peter answered, letting out a laugh. “I mean, I fought him. But he didn't hurt me like... I mean, what do you mean?”

“Did he... did he try to... cut you open or-”

“No. No Aunt May,” Peter shook his head, swallowing. “He didn't do anything like that. He's just nuts. He seemed to think I was supposed to be a girl. He's really out of his mind. We fought when I tried to escape and that was it. That was all that happened.”

She looked like she didn't quite believe him but after studying his face for a tense few moments, she nodded.

“All right,” she stroked his hair again and Peter felt his shoulders and back relax.

“In addition to the drugs in his system, he appears to still be recovering from multiple fractures in his ribs as well as lacerations,” Dr Meyer continued. “There doesn't seem to be any internal damage but we do need to keep him here in medical for a few days at least. Ms Potts reminded me to assure you that you're very welcome to stay in the tower as long as you like.”

“Oh, that was sweet of her,” May smiled and looked at her nephew. “She was so kind, showing me around the tower. She even let me pick a suite to stay in! She and Mr Stark have really gone above and beyond making me feel welcome.”

Peter smiled a little, but his heart wasn't in it. He just felt exhausted now. It was starting to catch up – everything he'd been through the past two weeks. It all seemed like some kind of nightmare and yet he felt ten years older.

“Are you sure you're all right?” May's eyes were full of worry. It made his heart hurt. “You look so tired.”

“I'm tired,” he nodded. “I'll just get some sleep now, if that's okay?” He glanced to the doctor and back to his aunt.

“Of course,” Dr Meyer said. “Tysha will be your nurse today. Just let her know if you feel any pain or discomfort.”

“Thank you so much,” Aunt May told her.

“It's my job to make sure Mr Parker is taken care of, but you're welcome,” she smiled. “If you have any questions, Mrs Parker, you can ask Tysha or she can call me. I'll be sleeping in the tower myself tonight. I'm going to go talk to Dr Banner about the analysis.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thank you again.”

“You're welcome. And get some sleep, Peter. I'll check in on you later,” The doctor then turned and headed out of the medical area.

Peter sagged against the pillows.

“You okay, aunt May?”

“Am I okay?” she shook her head. “I'm worried about you.”

“I'm fine.”

“Peter,” she sighed, smoothing her hand through his hair. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but she just pressed another kiss to his forehead. “I'll let you get some sleep. Do you want me to stay here? I can sit in this chair,” she looked toward an arm chair.

“I'm fine,” he said. “I'm just gonna go to sleep. You should get some rest too, aunt May.”

“I'll stay here until you fall asleep. Is that okay?”

Peter's lips stretched in a smile. “Sure.”

It would be nice to have her presence nearby. Somehow, he didn't think the idea of being alone in the medical unit would help him get to sleep easily. Probably because he'd spent weeks alone but for Osborn's company.

“I still can't seem to reach Gwen,” his aunt sighed as she sat in the chair. Peter's eyelids felt incredibly heavy as he snuggled down against the pillow, getting as comfortable as he could.

“Well she's probably busy,” he said. “She's probably got a class right now anyway, so I don't want to bother her.”

That was when it clicked.

Gwen worked at Oscorp. Gwen wasn't answering her phone. Norman had his bookbag, which included his cell phone, which included Gwen's number, texts from Gwen, and pictures of her.

“Oh god,” he gasped, sitting up. He was suddenly wide awake.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuun, the plot thickens!   
> Poor Peter, never a dull moment.


	13. Collateral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider Man, Deadpool, and the Avengers discuss Gwen Stacy's disappearance. Norman Osborn talks to one of the many heads of Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack Rollins makes an appearance in this chapter.

“The last person to see Gwen Stacy was Agent Barton at approximately three thirty yesterday afternoon,” Steve told the team.

“When he told her to GTFO,” Wade sighed and shook his head. He beat his fist on the table.

“Thank you, Wilson,” Steve said flatly. Natasha's eyes glimmered as they settled on Deadpool, narrowing.

They were sitting around a table in debrief. Peter was visible on a screen, sitting up in his bed in the medical unit. He'd nearly leapt out of his bed in his haste to alert JARVIS to the possibility of Gwen Stacy's capture and disappearance.

It turned out he was right. Gwen's mother hadn't heard anything from her since lunch time when Gwen called her for a brief chat. Gwen's roommate merely thought she'd stayed late at work as she'd apparently been doing so the past week.

Gwen had recently been offered a research post out at the upstate facility as an extension to her internship with Oscorp. By “Dr Richard Cambridge.”

Osborn had purposely moved Gwen out to the facility so that he could have her close by in case he needed leverage over Peter.

It was his worst nightmare realized. He kept thinking of Captain Stacy and the promise he'd made to the man in his dying moments.

'God, why?' he thought, closing his eyes and trying to breathe. He was trying not to picture Gwen tied up somewhere with an enraged Osborn.

Clint Barton had his head in his hands, elbows on the table, and Peter felt a twinge of empathy for him. The man clearly blamed himself – not only for Osborn's evasion of capture but now for Gwen's disappearance.

“Has Osborn contacted us yet?” Natasha asked.

“No,” Steve frowned. “But I'm thinking he will try to contact Peter at some point soon.” He looked up to Peter. “Is there any place that you can think of that he might have taken Gwen?”

Peter shook his head. He was pale, paler than he'd been, and he knew it. He'd looked in the mirror briefly while he was in the bathroom earlier, throwing up. The terror and the nausea had just crashed in on him. And he'd thought his ordeal was over.

'Stupid. Should have known Osborn would find some way to make sure you could never escape again.'

He clenched his fists on his lap, picturing choking the man.

“The 'guards' Natasha encountered in the hallway have been questioned and are indeed Hydra,” Steve said, looking to Peter.

“Guards?” Peter lifted an eyebrow.

“There were guards in the hallway leading down to the basement,” Steve added. “Natasha took them out and fought Osborn.”

“Oh. Right. You mentioned that earlier...” Peter shook his head, then looked to Natasha. “Tell me you at least got to kick his ass?”

“I did some serious ass kicking,” Her lips curved at one corner.

“Nice,” he said, though he didn't really feel that happy about it. Gwen was still in danger.

“I've interrogated two of them,” she continued, looking at Steve. “But they're about as cooperative as you'd expect. I don't think any of them actually know anything useful. They seem like new recruits.”

“Which just confirms what we already guessed; Hydra is attempting to rebuild,” Steve breathed in deeply, eyeing the table in thought and rubbing his mouth and chin with a hand. He looked up at her. “Any of them mention anything about the link between Oscorp and Hydra?”

“Seems like the link is more between Osborn and Hydra so far. The board still has more control of the company assets than Harry Osborn does. Though I suspect that the investigation will uncover some transfer of funds from Oscorp to possible members of Hydra. People of importance.”

“I had JARVIS search the security footage from the building, but it looks like it was disabled when Osborn pushed some kind of panic button,” Tony spoke up. “The last we see of him is before he encountered Romanoff.”

Peter wanted to hit something suddenly. Osborn had really planned for a worse case scenario.

The worst part was that Peter knew what Osborn wanted. The man wouldn't give up until he had Peter back in his clutches. Whether he was serious about turning Peter into a woman to... ew, breed with, or he just wanted to torture Spider Man, he would never give in. He hadn't just taken Gwen to punish Peter for escaping. He'd taken Gwen to ensure that Peter would return; because he _knew_ that Peter would die rather than see Gwen suffer.

What he didn't know was that Spider Man was going to show up and kick his ass before the Avengers put him in a glass box to live out the rest of his miserable days under maximum security like some kind of zoo specimen. Even if such a fate would have been oddly fitting for Osborn.

He thought of the atrium and nearly shuddered, remembering the madman eyeing him – in the bed, in the shower, on the sofa...

“I move we find him and punch him in the dick,” Deadpool said, raising a hand.

“That's the plan, doofus,” Clint said wearily. “But we have to find him first.”

“Why is he still here?” Tony asked, pointing to Deadpool.

“He's useful for annoying the Hydra agents,” Natasha said. “The faster they break, the sooner I get useful intel.”

Cap's lips stretched at one corner. Peter found himself feeling impatient with the joking. He was worried about Gwen and it bothered him sitting in a bed and doing nothing. He needed to be out there, looking for her.

There was the other thing – he didn't have his suit or his web shooters. He had backup shooters and a suit waiting for him at home, but he was stuck here in the tower and he highly doubted JARVIS would be convinced to let him slip out without notifying Tony or the others.

“Did Gwen have her cellphone on her at the time?” Steve asked Tony.

“Yeah, but it doesn't make a difference if it's off or if Osborn destroyed it. JARVIS is keeping an eye on it in case he can pick up a signal from it.”

“He still has my cell phone,” Peter muttered. Then he felt embarrassed. He sounded stupid, talking about his phone when...

This was all his fault. He'd taken his cellphone with him while on patrol. He should have realized it could be used to trace Spider Man back to Peter Parker if it fell into the wrong hands. And if Osborn hadn't found his cell phone, he wouldn't have thought to take Gwen Stacy.

Unless Harry told him they were dating. Peter wasn't sure exactly how Osborn found out about them, but he had.

Either way, it was his fault. She wouldn't be in danger if it wasn't for Peter.

He'd gotten cocky. He'd believed that no one could capture him.

“Have you eaten anything since you've woken up?” Tony asked Peter who looked up.

“Hm? Oh. Uh, no.”

“Shawarma?”

“Tony,” Steve chuckled.

“Hey. I always recommend shawarma. Especially when things suck.”

“Things don't just suck,” Peter said quietly. “This is _all_ my fault-”

“Don't,” Natasha said. “Don't say that.”

“It is. She wouldn't be in danger if it wasn't for me! I shouldn't have been dating her to begin with. I told... I told Captain Stacy I'd stay away from her.” He felt his face flush. “It's all my fault.”

“Peter,” Cap spoke and the young man looked up. “Let Tony get you something to eat and get some rest. I know it sounds impossible, believe me. But you're not doing Gwen any favors by not taking care of yourself. You need to recover.”

Peter nodded. The truth was he wasn't even sure how he could begin to recover. Nobody knew what Osborn had said and done to him. Nobody was _ever_ going to know as far as Peter was concerned.

For now, he was just going to suck it up and not think about it. Gwen was more important anyway.

“Okay,” he nodded. “I mean, yes sir.”

Steve gave him the small smile that meant that he was sad.

“We're going to go over every way we can of finding Gwen. You can rely on that, Peter.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

“JARVIS! Shawarma, please.”

“Of course, sir. The usual?”

Tony nodded. “Enough for everyone at this table – and the Parkers!”

“I already ate,” Banner said.

“Nonsense!” Tony was saying as Peter closed the communication window. Usually he'd be on the moon about hanging out in Stark tower, enjoying advanced technology like augmented reality projections and an AI to order food and banter with. But he kept seeing Gwen's smile the last time he'd seen her.

He kept picturing her working under Osborn's watchful eye while he, Peter, was trapped in the basement below.

He thought about the people he'd attacked in the process of hunting the man who shot his uncle. How desperate he'd been to gain justice and in the end all he'd really wanted was revenge. For that man to hurt as much as Peter did.

It wasn't so much that he wanted to hurt Osborn. Punch him in the dick? Yeah, sure. But ultimately he didn't just want to cause Oborn pain.

He wanted to destroy Osborn completely.

Somehow, that didn't really strike him as better. Thinking of killing Osborn didn't make him feel guilty or satisfied. It just made him feel... well... nothing, really.

Somehow that seemed worse.

He'd never had to think about it but now he realized he _would_ do anything to keep Gwen safe.

 

* * *

 

Gwen awoke in a strange room. It looked like some kind of office. A really bland office. There was even a water cooler in the corner of the room with paper cups. Her head ached and she felt thirsty; not to mention she'd just been left on the floor. At least the light was on in the room.

She trembled as she sat up, looking around the room with wide eyes. She scrambled up, swaying as she used the desk to climb to her feet. Her shoes were gone as was her lab coat. Why someone would take her shoes, she had no idea.

But then, why would Dr Cambridge would hit her over the head with something and kidnap her?

She swallowed, trying to calm the panic in her chest.

'Don't panic,' she thought. 'Not yet.'

She leaned against the desk, looking around the office, trying to see if she could find anything to use as a weapon. There wasn't even a book in the room.

She moved to the door slowly, frowning. The wall by the door was glass with blinds on it. She parted the blinds to peek through it and found a darkened hallway. Creepy.

She took a deep breath and put her hand on the door handle, pushing it open.

“Where are _you_ going?” a man's voice asked and she shouted, slamming the door and stumbling back.

The door opened a moment later and a man smirked at her. He had broad shoulders, looked fairly muscular, and looked to be in his thirties. He had dark hair pulled back in a pony tail.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, her hands balling into fists. The guy just huffed, looking amused.

“None of your concern, kid. Just keep your mouth shut and stay put, okay?”

“If you wanted me to stay put, then why wasn't the door locked?”

“The first part of that sentence included 'keep your mouth shut,'” he told her. “I'm not a nice guy. Don't make me remind you again.”

She glowered at him, her arms crossing over her chest.

“Why am I here?”

“Wow, you don't listen do you?” He shook his head. “You're Osborn's problem. Not mine. If he wants to tell you-”

“Osborn!” Her eyes widened. “ _Harry_ Osborn?”

The guy rolled his eyes. Then he turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. She felt only midly relieved that he hadn't tried to hit her or anything.

 

Gwen sighed heavily as she leaned against the desk. Asshole. She looked at the desk, then walked around it to pull the drawers open one by one. Nothing. Not even a damn pen.

She'd heard about people using a pen as a weapon. She could stab the guy in the neck with one if she had one. In the carotid arteries maybe. Gwen had never stabbed anyone, but it didn't mean she wouldn't try if they decided to try to hurt her.

She was certain this had to do with Peter. But why would Osborn – Harry – kidnap her _and_ Peter? It didn't make any sense. Peter was _friends_ with Harry... right?

Unless what the man said was misdirection and he was just trying to keep Gwen off the real scent.

She was scared, thirsty, slightly dizzy, and hungry. The thirst she could do something about. She went to the water cooler and got a cup of water, then had another. She went to lean against the desk again, keeping her eyes on the door. The weird guy was probably still out there. He'd had a gun on his hip, she'd noticed and he looked like a capable type; physically strong.

She just hoped Peter was okay wherever he was. She tried to swallow down the hurt that surfaced whenever she thought of him.

 

Almost an hour passed in her estimation before the door opened. Her eyes went wide open at the side of who entered.

He smiled at her.

“Hello, Ms Stacy.”

“You... you're dead.”

“I was. And now I'm not! Isn't that interesting?” He laughed. “Now I have new friends – powerful new friends – and they're going to help me take care of a little problem called Spider Man.”

“What have you done with him?” she shouted, not caring suddenly if this asshole was once dead and now just crazy. She didn't care how powerful Norman Osborn was. She stepped forward, chin raised. He chuckled.

“Oh, you don't worry your pretty little head about Parker. He's fine. In fact, he was spirited away by his Avenger friends.”

“Good!” She scoffed.

“Fortunately,” he sneered. “I already had you eating out of the palm of my hand. _Dr Richard Cambridge_ ,” he laughed. “You just leapt at the chance to do _real_ research, didn't you? All that time and you didn't know that your _research_ was helping me. And now you'll deliver your boyfriend right back into my -”

She slapped him, knocking his face to the side.

He blinked in surprise, then slowly looked down at her, fury lighting up his eyes. Gwen hadn't expected her own reaction but she suddenly didn't care.

“You're an idiot. And you're going to get exactly-” She yelped as he grabbed her by the hair and hauled on it hard, lifting her up off the floor.

She yelled and kicked at him, then screamed as he threw her into the wall. Gwen fell to the floor and curled up with a groan.

“You're worthless to me, Gwen Stacy. If I were you, I'd keep your mouth shut. Parker may find you enthralling, but the rest of us just think you're a mouthy little twat.”

He turned to go, smirking at her.

“Then again, I could just hand you over to Hydra once I get Parker back. I hear they need lab rats. Just hope that your boyfriend cares as much about you as he appears to.”

He slammed the door behind him.

Gwen pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in her scalp and her left side where she'd connected with the wall. He'd thrown her like she weighed nothing.

Hydra. Norman Osborn was alive and working with _Hydra_ to bring down Spider Man. But why did they even care about Peter? She could see why Osborn hated him, but what did Hydra have to gain? Was it because he was fighting alongside the Avengers? But he wasn't even a full Avenger yet.

She suspected darkly that they relished any chance to get back at Captain America and the Black Widow for bringing down SHIELD and Hydra with it. Gwen had read numerous news articles about the Battle at the Triskelion and the fallout, glad that Peter wasn't involved in it.

She shuddered, wiping the tears of pain and anger from her eyes. Hydra was a terrorist organization. They tortured people and there were rumors that they'd brainwashed people too. Like a cult. Gwen wasn't sure if she believed it was possible to brainwash people into doing things but if any organization's scientists could find a way to do it, it would have been SHIELD's.

She was just glad that Hydra hadn't harmed Peter through SHIELD already.

She breathed in deeply and tried to think of what her father had advised her to do if she was ever kidnapped or in a hostage situation. But there wasn't really anything to do. She'd already ignored her father's first advice – 'keep your head down and don't try to play the hero.' Her lips stretched wryly at one corner. Figured she would be attracted to someone who would do the exact opposite of what her dad would have advised. She might have criticized Peter's recklessness, but she wasn't exactly Ms Safety herself.

She eyed the water cooler in thought, then looked back at the door. She was _not_ just going to sit here and wait for rescue so that Peter could hand himself over – because he _would_ , the dumb jerk – to some mad scientist and a terrorist Neo Nazi cult.

* * * 

Norman had cut his losses once again. He was used to this by now. People could say what they wanted, but Norman Osborn did not give up. Persistent, just like Parker.

He smiled. They would have stubborn children together, he was certain. His serum resulted in fantastic strength and reflexes – combined with the serum in Peter, what would it create?

He had to admit Peter was clever. Not as intelligent as Norman, but the boy was bright. He had good genetics.

It hadn't been easy taking grabbing Stacy and getting out of the building before he was spotted. He'd been fortunate to drive away from the building before the rest of the Avengers found him. Once he'd seen the Widow and 'Hawkeye' – he still wanted to roll his eyes at the name every time – he'd thought it was over. Fortunately for him they hadn't brought Iron Man and the super soldier in time.

Osborn could create a whole race of super soldiers if he could get Peter back. They might have some odd biology if the indications of the research proved correct, but they would be strong, fast, and clever.

Worthy heirs. He could have a dynasty.

And with the aide of his new associates, they would also be powerful. Johann Schmidt's ideology actually fit Osborn's personal vision for the future rather well.

Though Hydra had changed much since the time of Schmidt and he was fortunate the man with the red face was no longer around; he would have just been another obstacle to Norman.

So yes, he was miffed that his research had been interrupted, but with the Stacy girl, he would recover Peter in no time.

“Hail Hydra,” he told the guards at the door. The building he was in, was ironically situated in the city. Hydra owned a ridiculous number of properties across the world. By the time he was done with Ana's transformation, they would be able to hide anywhere. He'd entertained the notion of taking her out of the country. To Europe perhaps, or even somewhere in Asia.

The guards stepped out of his way and he entered the room. A woman was sitting behind the desk. She had dark eyes and dark hair pulled back tightly. She looked Italian or Spanish, and to be in her late twenties.

She smiled prettily at him.

“Norman Osborn. What a delight,” She stood and offered her hand. He took it, shaking it gently. She had a slender, statuesque figure and she was tall. She barely looked older than the Stacy girl in his opinion and he wondered if this was some kind of joke or test.

Hydra didn't just allow anyone to join their ranks and there was no such thing as gaining position just because of money. One had to prove they were willing to do what had to be done, which Norman found fair.

“Please sit,” she gestured to the other chair. Norman did, slowly. “Would you like a drink?” she gestured to the bottle of wine and glasses on her desk. She was already drinking some herself.

“No.”

“Very well,” she shrugged. “My name is Leona Hess and I will get straight to business-”

“Good.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I hope we can come to some kind of agreement regarding the Spider Man.”

“The Spider Man is mine. That is my only stipulation for joining Hydra. You can do whatever you want with the rest of the Avengers. But Spider Man is _mine._ ”

She eyed him for a moment then shrugged.

“Is there any particular reason you want Spider Man?”

“He's been a nuisance to me from the beginning. I have plans for him.”

“And you need Hydra's technology to make these plans a possibility.”

Norman grit his teeth. “You have certain methods of control that I think might apply well to him, yes.”

“What are you planning to-”

“None of your business. My contact assured me my research would be left private!”

“So he did. And so it will,” She smiled. She was ridiculously cute in a skirt suit and heels and it made her look harmless, but Osborn wasn't fooled. He had a feeling he knew what kind of woman he was sitting across from. Someone as deadly as the Widow herself. But Norman wasn't intimidated or impressed. “But we are a little curious as to what you are planning for the Spider Man once you have him under your control.”

“You had your toy soldier. Maybe I'd like to have mine.”

She just looked at him again with that bright eyed stare. Norman gazed back. It might have been unnerving to the average person and there was something snakelike, hypnotic about her gaze.

“Toy soldier? I suppose you mean the Winter Soldier?”

“Yes.”

“And once you have a soldier of your own, what will you use him for?”

“What else do you use soldiers for?” he sneered. “I think he'll be useful for a number of things, particularly getting rid of those goddamn Avengers.”

She smiled.

“Indeed. Well... I suppose my lady will be pleased to hear this.”

“Your lady?” His brow furrowed.

“She is coming to the United States this weekend. We have plans of our own to set in motion. Stacy may be your bargaining chip, but she will prove useful bait to bring the Avengers to the party.”

“I don't want a party, I want the Spider Man.”

“And you will have the Spider Man. But we can help eachother by ensuring that the Avengers are – as you said – no longer a problem. Then you will have your spider free for other things, no?”

He eyed her closely. She couldn't possibly have any idea of what he was planning but he knew Hydra was good when it came to finding out secrets.

It didn't really matter if they knew what Osborn was planning to do with Peter, with Ana. They weren't interested in him but the others. That was fine with him. They could do whatever they liked with Stark and his obnoxious teammates.

“Very well,” he said at last.

“My lady will be glad to meet you-”

“Who is this lady of yours?”

“We have other names for her, but the name she uses for travel purposes is Erica Holstein.”

 


	14. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this earlier, but I dideeeen't. I'm sorreee!   
> Consider this me making up for the lack of Spideypool thus far. I promise it is end game. :)   
> To clarify, POV shifts from Peter to Wade in this one.

**Two Months Earlier**

 

“Mind if I listen to music?” Wade was already tugging out a phone out of his pocket, earbuds popping out along with it.

Peter shrugged. “Whatever.”

They were on top of a roof and he didn't know why the merc was even asking. Peter continued moving the hackey sack from toe to toe. He was trying to kick it from his toe to his heel and then back – he never would have been able to do it in pre-Spidey days and he was starting to wonder if it was possible period.

“I still wish I could shoot with my feet,” Wade said, after watching him.

“What?” Peter let the hackey sack fall, turning to chuckle and watch the other masked man who was sitting down, cross legged, on the low wall around the top of the building. Something about the sight of him, sitting there so relaxed with a dirtied white iPhone in hand, ear buds stuffed into his ears -despite the red mask over his head- struck Peter in a certain way. Maybe it was the evening skyline of New York behind him, the orange glow of the setting sun somehow setting off Deadpool's blood red and black costume.

Whatever it was, it struck something deep inside of Peter and laid him open in a way that made him inhale sharply.

“The time we fought Hit Monkey? Aw, come on, don't tell me you don't remember _that!_ ”

“Hit Monkey?” Peter snorted. “Uh, no I don't remember a hit monkey.”

“This writer _sucks_ ,” Deadpool grumbled. “They didn't even include _Hit Monkey_.”

“What are you listening to?” he asked, choosing to ignore Wade's weird comment for once.

Wade shrugged. “Random stuff. Spotify.”

“Really?” Peter smiled a little under his mask, tilting his head. “You have a Spotify?”

“I have a Facebook. So I ended up with a Spotify. The internet is a massive trap.”

“It really is.”

“So what are you listening to now?”

“Uhh... Something called 'Stranger on the Shore.' It's okay.”

Peter shrugged. “Cool. That a band?”

“Erm. Nah, it's an old song actually.”

“Cool. Can I hear?” He didn't know why he wanted to listen to Deadpool's earbuds, being that his mask tended to be kind of gross and certainly his earbuds would be – but he was intensely curious about what the mercenary was listening to. What kind of music _would_ a professional killer listen to?

Granted, Deadpool always seemed to know a ridiculous amount of pop lyrics – he'd been singing Katy Perry's “Firework” earlier.

“Um. Sure.” Deadpool tugged an earbud loose and held it out. Peter took it, only giving it a cursory glance before holding it up to his ear. He let out a giggle after a moment.

“I think I've heard that in like a Chinese restaurant before.”

Deadpool smiled under his mask.

“Is this _seriously_ what you listen to?”

“It came out like the sixties, give me a break.” The merc snorted. “This is what I normally like to listen to, here-” he drew his thumb down over the screen of his phone. “Hold on.”

“Nah man, it's too late. I've already judged you,” Peter couldn't stop his giggles. “Listening to like... elevator music.”

“It is not elevator music. It's sixties music! You came out in the sixties!”

“What?” Peter snorted. “I think you're confusing me with someone else, man.”

“Totally when _Amazing Fantasy_ number 15 came out!”

“I don't want to know about your fantasies.” Peter waved his hands, the earbud secured momentarily beneath the thumb of his left hand.

“Here we go.” Wade nodded along as something began to play. A red and blue glove returned the glove to Peter's ear.

“What is this? Like nineties stuff?”

“This is The Cure!” The mercenary almost sounds indignant and it makes Peter chuckle again.

“Just kidding! Calm down!” he holds up a hand. Peter nods along to the music. “I've listened to The Cure before. Just... they're not my _favorite_ band.”

“Oh? What's your favorite band, huh? Think you're _so cool._ ”

“It's My Chemical Romance,” Peter said with a straight face, not that Deadpool could see it under the mask.

Wade stared at him silently for a few moments. “You're a jerk.”

The Spider Man laughed.

“No _really_ , what's your favorite band?”

Peter shrugged. “I like The Shins. Really, my favorite band changes all the time. A month ago, it was The Police, then it was the The Killers-”

“Sounds like you just like the word 'the,' man.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“I also like Empire of the Sun! Oh, wait, damn, that also has 'the' in it.” He snapped his fingers in a 'darn it' fashion, feeling himself blush under the mask. He didn't know why he even cared what Wade thought. The guy was nuts after all.

Peter frowned. He didn't like the way people just blew Wade off. Even Cap had a tendency to be cold to him and Peter didn't understand that. It didn't seem right to him. Wade was... okay he was super annoying sometimes and pretty dangerous when he got an idea into his head but, he had a good heart, sort of, and he clearly wasn't all there, mentally speaking. He couldn't really help being nuts.

 

The air was cold, whipping around them, but they didn't care. Peter was wearing layers under his suit. He always felt more at home under the sky somehow than he did in his own room.

He kicked the hackey sack from foot to foot even as he sat.

“Hah. I remember when I was a kid, my dad would start shouting out the door about this time of day, when it was time for me to come in. 'I'll kick your ass like that damn ball if you don't get it in here right now!”

Peter's foot halted, the hackey sack balanced on his boot. The silence was heavy for a moment.

“I'm sorry, Wade.”

He huffed at Peter first.

“Bah, don't cry about spilled milk. Come on, let's kick it around!” Wade hopped up, snatching his earbud back.

Peter huffed, but stood up and joined in. He flipped forward, balancing on his hand and snatching the hackeysack out of the air, then flipped back onto his feet to kick it back and forward between his own feet.

“Hey!” the merc made a face. “Thief.”

“When I was a kid, there was this guy I met coming home from the library. His name was Skip.”

 

Wade nodded. He had a feeling he'd heard this story before. Spidey's face was downward, toward the hackey sack bounced between his feet. He kicked it to Wade. Wade did some fancy tricks, or tried to, and kicked it back to him.

“His parents were divorced and his mom had to work, so it would often just be us hanging out.”

He sighed and stopped, letting the hackey sack roll off his foot for a moment, then kicked it up.

“One time he pulls out these mags.” He scoffed. “I don't even know why I'm telling you...”

“Spidey.”

He looked up at Wade. They both had their masks on, so he couldn't see Peter Parker's eyes. But he could feel them. He could picture them. He smiled slightly.

“It's okay.”

Spidey was quiet for a moment.

“I've told people before. My aunt and uncle. These kids once.”

“Jesus, Spidey,” Wade laughed. Spidey crossed his arms over his chest and the merc held up his hands apologetically. “All right, sorry. Just teasing.” He loved how this skinny, young guy in a spandex suit could make him feel contrite with just one look. It was almost like Cap.

“They needed to talk about it. People have to talk about it Wade.”

“I know.”

“I didn't want to....” Peter sighed and scooped the hackey sack up again. Wade could have sworn he was cheating with those Spidey senses as he kicked it from foot to foot, then launched it at the merc who barely managed to catch it with his hand. “I finally told Aunt May and Uncle Ben after it happened. They told the police.”

Wade nodded, tossing the hackey sack high up in the air. Spidey watched, hopping up to kick it from behind with his ankle, toward Wade who cursed and caught it before it flew over the rooftop's edge again. Peter laughed, watching the merc who smiled under his mask.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Wade nodded. It always seemed a strange question to him, but he got why someone would ask. Spidey ran over to him and standing up on tip toe, which Wade thought was the most adorable thing, the younger man whispered into his ear.

Wade huffed.

“Honestly, that's okay. Happened to me too, actually.”

“Really?” Spidey looked intrigued and that was when Wade realized just how young he was and he almost wanted to bundle the kid up and take him home. Stuff his face with Taco Bell and play games with him on the Xbox forever.

Wade sighed.

“It doesn't mean that it was okay. What he did to you.”

“I know.” Peter's shoulders sagged a little. He looked so vulnerable suddenly and Deadpool put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. Spidey laughed and kicked at him, hopping away.

“Let's stop cryin' over spilled milk and play,” he kicked the hackey sack away from Deadpool, dancing along with it. Wade knew that it would be one of his favorite memories – that afternoon with the winter sun dying around them and Spidey dancing with a hackey sack.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The super sappy song Wade listens to actually came out in 1963, which is the same year as Amazing Fantasies number 15, the first comic in which the Spidey we know and love made his debut. It's pretty funny if you think about the fact that Peter is actually fifty two years old. Deadpool is only twenty four!
> 
> Hit Monkey is an actual monkey assassin that Peter and Wade join up to fight in Deadpool Volume 2, Number 19, part of the "Whatever A Spider Can" story arc. It is probably my favorite team up of Spider Man and Deadpool. 
> 
> Deadpool mentions still wishing he could shoot with his feet because Hit Monkey can and in the comic, Wade actually tried to do this. 
> 
> Bit of trivia: Hit Monkey is a Japanese macaque. They are also just referred to as snow monkeys. Some of them even live near hot springs in Nagano, Japan because they are smart. If you ever feel sad, Google Japanese macaques in hot springs.


	15. Blackmail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter bristles against the Avengers's insistence that he sit this one out and let them handle Gwen's rescue. Meanwhile, he schemes with none other than the mouthy merc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a hiatus due to NaNoWriMo, I have returned muahaha! Here is the next part in Spidey's adventures.

“I brought some of your things.”

Peter looked up to see his aunt entering the medical unit.

It had been two days since he'd been rescued and Gwen was taken. For _two days_ , Gwen had been missing.

Peter had tried to sneak out of the medical unit to limited success. JARVIS was making sure that he was staying put until his numerous injuries had fully healed. To say that Peter wasn't happy about this would be the understatement of the _century_.

JARVIS at least allowed him to go to the gym the Avengers trained in after Peter had some choice words for Tony Stark. He'd taken to stretching by climbing the walls and leaping up onto various balancing platforms. Peter missed his webs fiercely and climbing the walls of the gym without them just reminded him of the atrium Osborn had kept him in.

He managed a small smile for Aunt May as she handed him his school bookbag. For a moment, he froze, remembering the bookbag Osborn had. Then he set it down on his lap.

Unzipping it, he found his laptop inside along with a fresh package of Oreos.

“Thanks,” he told her.

She smiled at him and it hurt to see because she was clearly tired and hurting for him. He was going to make that right. Aunt May was never going to have to go through this again.

“You should email your professors,” she told him. “They were worried about you. A few of them came by the house to visit.”

“They did?”

She nodded. “Mr O'Hara, Ms Dhariwal, Mr Klein... I can't recall the other person's name but she was an older woman.”

“Mrs Heidecker,” he smiled. “That was nice of them.”

“I think... Gwen put them up to it,” she added a moment later. She took his hand in hers and he sighed. “Peter, the Avengers are doing everything they can,” her eyes were weary, but still so strong, and he clenched his teeth.

“I know,” he stroked his thumb over her knuckles. Aunt May's hands were well worn. She'd taken care of him and Uncle Ben for so many years.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it, then let her pull him into a hug.

“They'll be happy to hear from you,” she rubbed his back.

“I know,” he said when she let him go. “I'll go ahead and do that.”

“Good,” she wiped at her face with a kleenex from her pocket. “Oh, Mr Stark... Tony,” she smiled a little as if amused at the thought that she was on first name terms with Tony Stark. “Said that Agent Romanoff will be searching old Hydra bases.”

He nodded. “They told me they'd let me know if they find anything.”

She nodded and squeezed his shoulder.

“Are you... feeling better?”

He nodded. “I'm fine, Aunt May.”

'I have a healing factor,' he thought. 'Gwen doesn't.'

He tried not to think about what Osborn might have done to Gwen in the meantime. Nothing. Nothing, if he wanted Peter's compliance anyway, and that was what this was all about, wasn't it?

He tried to ignore the twisting in his gut as he opened the laptop.

For a moment, he stared at the loading screen, trying to recall his university email log in. Right.

The background of his laptop was like a slap in the face – himself and Gwen smiling into a camera, Gwen looking like an angel.

'This is all your fault.'

“Peter?” his aunt searched his face. He smiled at her.

“I'm fine, Aunt May. Really. I'm just worried.”

“I know,” she patted his arm and moved to sit down nearby with a sigh. “Oh, some of the folks from the Daily Bugle called me too, while you were... gone. Mrs Brant... she was so devastated, Peter. I called her earlier today and she sounded so relieved.”

'But Gwen still isn't safe so there's nothing to be relieved about!'

He smiled, weakly. “Thanks, Aunt May. I'll have to call her sometime.”

“It's okay. You don't have to rush,” her hands fidgeted in her lap. “It'll take time...”

To heal. That was what she meant. Everyone kept telling him that, including Captain Rogers. But he didn't want to hear about himself healing. He didn't care about his injuries. He needed to be out there looking for Gwen.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded and turned to his laptop. He logged into his university email account after a few moments of trying to remember the username and password.

Then he frowned at all of the notifications. Most of them were just trash – stuff about events on campus that Peter didn't usually go to. He scrolled down, frowning, and found some of the emails from his professors. His eyes misted when he saw one from Professor Dhariwal.

“It's so good to know you're safe again,” she wrote. “Everyone else in class is sending their well wishes.”

Damn him. Damn it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Peter?”

“I'm fine,” he smiled at her. “Really.”

“Do you need some time?” She asked, tilting her head. He nodded.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“It's all right,” she stood and gave him another hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. He felt like such a jerk, sending her away, but he really did need to do this on his own.

“Thanks, Aunt May. For...” his throat grew tight.

“Shh, it's fine.” She kissed his cheek this time. “I need to go take a shower anyway.”

“Okay,” he felt awful as he squeezed her hand one last time and watched her walk out of the room. How many days of work had she missed because of him? What about her life?

He was so selfish. He'd never thought about the cost of his heroics. Even after Captain Stacy died, he'd still insisted on doing this. His fingers gripped the laptop tightly.

But there was no backing out of it now. If Peter didn't help Gwen...

'Think. Come on, you're supposed to be a genius. Think.'

He mentally ran over everything that Osborn had said, forced himself to ignore the horror of his time there.

On the sofa with his legs spread, baiting Osborn in. Electricity flooding through his skull, his body tight as a wire. The crash of the windshield as Osborn shattered it, his own chest hitting the steering wheel.

Peter took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

'Come on, think.'

Osborn was working with Hydra. If Peter could get around the city...

Would he hide Gwen here in the city, right under Tony Stark's nose? Or would a Hydra base outside of the city be safer?

He closed his eyes, trying to recall Gwen's email. It was a longshot, but if he could remember her Oscorp login... He'd seen her login once, watched over her shoulder.

“Come on, come on,” he told himself. He searched for a few moments, then found Oscorp's employee page. “Come on...”

He had a photographic memory sometimes. If he could just remember how Gwen's fingers had fit over the keys... There might be something to clue him in.

He tried typing in the username. Gwen... Gstacy? Had she used a username or an email to log in?

The med unit door was kicked in so hard that it slapped against the wall, startling Peter out of his thoughts. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the familiar red suit.

“Ho ho hooo! Merry Christmas!”

He shook his head.

“Wade, please go away.”

“Aw, but I brought you snacks!”

The mercenary tiptoed over to him in such a comical fashion that Peter had to give him props for perfect cartoony behavior. It would have made him smile if he wasn't currently trying to save his girlfriend from Osborn's clutches.

Then he caught the whiff of burritos and his mouth began to water. 'Damn you, Pavlovian response!'

“I hath brought thee – Maria's Burritos! Hachacha, _caliente!_ ”

“Wait, where did you get that sombrero?”

“You forgot the maracas,” Wade shook said maracas. “And a merc never shares his secrets!”

The bag of burritos was resting on the bed. Peter sighed and put his laptop down, then sat up with his legs crossed. He grabbed the bag of burritos and began to dig through it.

Maria's Burritos. Full of sliced avocado, rice, and cheese. He groaned as he bit into one.

“Okay,” he said after a few moments of chewing. “I don't even care where you got the sombrero from.” He pointed at the chair, staring the mercenary in the eye. “Sit. And try to be quiet?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Deadpool tossed the maracas aside, plopped the sombrero on Peter's head, then fished out some burritos and plopped down in the seat Aunt May had occupied earlier. Peter felt a twinge of guilt. He was supposed to be having alone time. But it wasn't his fault Wade came bearing burritos.

He frowned as he chewed.

“So... why did you bring me burritos?”

The merc jerked back and stared at him.

“Excuse me?” he had his mask partly up and a mouthfull of burrito. Peter could see his scarred chin. “Jesus, Spidey, I thought we were _friends._ ”

“We are... sort of friends,” Peter felt another twinge of guilt looking at his burrito, then back at Wade. “I'm sorry,” he lowered his burrito. “I guess I just... expect people to expect things when they bring me food?”

He closed his eyes and cursed Osborn.

“Um, well,” Wade said as he finished swallowing the tail end of a burrito. “I brought you burritos of friendship, so... we can just be friends, Spidey, it's all good.”

Peter rolled his eyes at the joke, but smiled a little and took another bite. He sighed a he looked at the Oscorp log in screen. Who was he kidding? What did he even hope to find under Gwen's account? It wasn't as if she'd have any secrets displayed somewhere people might be able to find them.

He went back to his university email, making a mental note to try to remember her log in later. There still might be something. He frowned as he saw a new email.

It was out of place because every other email came from a university source, usually someone's first initial and last name. This... this address was a collection of numbers and symbols.

He clicked on it and found a link inside. Peter took another bite of the burrito, frowning.

“It's probably a virus,” Wade said from his right ear and he nearly jumped.

“Whoa! Okay, that's close enough!” He set the burrito back down on it's wrapping paper before it could drip everywhere. He'd nearly thrown it on the ceiling – hell, he'd nearly ended up on the ceiling himself.

“Sorry!” Wade jumped back, waving his hands as if flailing. He tugged his mask back down. “So uh... Suspicious email, eh? Nigerian princes at it again?”

Peter's eyes narrowed. Then he looked back at the email. He clicked on the link, glancing to Deadpool again.

A page loaded with a black screen. Peter glanced up at the address, but it was also just a bunch of numbers, letters, and symbols.

“What the...” he sat up as a video box appeared in the center of the screen. The video was loading and he leaned in, feeling Deadpool peering closely next to him. He glared at the merc who flinched back again.

“Jeez, just peeking...”

Peter scowled at him, then turned his attention back to the screen.

His heart nearly stopped as he saw Gwen sitting in a chair with a hooded man standing behind her.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The man behind Gwen raised a dagger in one hand.

“That dagger is way too blunt for that job,” Wade said, slurping as he licked burrito from behind his teeth. Peter shoved him away by the head, heart racing, then gripped the laptop and held it closer.

Gwen was staring into the camera and Peter realized she was communicating something with her eyes. Probably a 'Don't be an idiot, Peter,' look.

“This message is for the Spider Man,” he nearly jumped at the sound of the man's voice. “You can cooperate and Gwen Stacy will be released unharmed. If you do not cooperate, you will never see her again.

You will turn yourself over to the will of Hydra. You will come to the location on the screen at the end of the video. You will not contact the authorities. You will not involve the Avengers.

If the Avengers or any police or government agency are involved, Gwen Stacy disappears forever.”

He gripped Gwen's hair and yanked her head back, the knife diving downward.

“Nn!” Peter's voice was caught in his throat.

The knife halted, the tip of the serrated blade a centimeter from her throat.

“Cut off one head, another takes its place! Hail Hydra!”

Then the video ended, a picture of a map with coordinates shown.

“Well thank God they know how to use Movie Maker,” Wade said.

Peter turned to glare at him, breathing hard.

“You think this is funny?”

Deadpool sighed.

“Hydra is serious shit, Spidey. No, I don't think it's funny. I do think it's weird they know your university email but I'm sure the writer will provide some stupid reason-”

“Like the fact that they have my cell phone and I sometimes logged in on it from there!”

“Damn,” Wade frowned. “Millenials!”

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Can you stop living in a comic book for five seconds, Deadpool?”

“Okay, five.”

Peter shook his head and looked at the video. The window had closed itself. He clicked around, frantic. He went back to his email and his cursor hovered over the link for a few seconds. Would they know how many times he viewed it?

When did they make it? After they first captured her? Yesterday? Today?

“You're gonna tell the Avengers, right?”

“No,” Peter shook his head.

“What about the AI?”

Peter's face paled and he closed his eyes with a curse.

“Fuck. _Fuck!_ ”

“Yeah, what's that about telling the Avengers?” an augmented screen appeared above Peter's laptop and he rolled his eyes. Tony Stark was giving him a raised eyebrow.

“Tony, if you get involved-”

“Did it ever occur to you that they aren't actually going to _do_ anything to Gwen Stacy-”

“I know!” Peter couldn't help raising his voice. Damn it, it wasn't supposed to work out like this! “I can...”

“You can _what?_ ” Tony prodded, his eyes hardening. “Peter, I know you think you can handle this by yourself, but-”

“If they think you're involved, she disappears!”

“If we _don't_ get involved, she disappears,” Natasha was stepping into the medical unit. “And so do you.” She stopped and frowned at the burritos then eyed Deadpool who was caught in the middle of chewing another one. She jerked her head toward the door.

He jerked his in reply. Natasha rolled her eyes and looked to Peter, stepping up to the bed.

“Peter, if anyone is experienced at dealing with Hydra, it's us.”

He shook his head. “They're going to...”

Damn it, he couldn't speak. He couldn't get emotional right now. Peter shook his head and gripped it in his hands.

The only sounds in the room were Deadpool chewing his burrito.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Should have gotten drinks.”

Peter rubbed at his face. He looked at Natasha and found her glaring steadily at Wade.

“I'll go get drinks,” he said, wiping his hands off on his suit and hurrying out of the medical unit.

Natasha sighed.

“Peter. You know that video was meant to scare you.”

“So you guys are watching my email now?”

“JARVIS notified me when the video started playing,” Tony said. “Then he notified Natasha and the others.”

Peter shook his head.

“They aren't going to hurt her,” Natasha said with way more confidence than Peter felt was right.

“They can still make her disappear,” he couldn't fight the frustration in his chest anymore. He stood and hopped from the bed onto the floor, then swept past her to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To the freakin' gym!” he shouted. He knew he wasn't being fair but he couldn't just sit still and...

He passed Deadpool in the hallway, holding two bottles of Gatorade in his hands.

“Hey, Spidey! Go long!”

“Fuck off!” Peter hissed, shaking his head as he moved to the elevator. A Gatorade crashed into the floor in front of the elevator and rolled away. He pushed the buttons angrily, then rubbed his hands through his hair. He felt someone stepping closer. Deadpool.

For a moment, he wanted to kick the asshole in his ribs. Punch him for making jokes about serrated knives and Gwen's throat.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” he said to the elevator as it opened, turning to glare at Wade.

The mercenary frowned.

“As crazy as it sounds, it's going to work out, Parker.”

Peter frowned.

“Who told you my name anyway?”

Wade shrugged and held out a Gatorade.

“Same place I got the sombrero.”

Peter took it, eyeing the mercenary with a frown. Then he stepped into the elevator. He jerked his head to gesture for the merc to come in. Deadpool's eyebrows rose. Peter rolled his eyes and waved him into the elevator with a hand.

Wade stepped in and the doors closed. The elevator began to take them to a higher floor – the common floor.

* * *

 

“So,” Wade said when they reached the gym. Peter already drank half of his Gatorade on the way up from the med lab. He closed the bottle and set it down on the floor, then gestured upward with his chin.

Deadpool was giving him a weird look that somehow translated through his odd mask. How was it that his mask was tight enough to show his expressions?

Peter shook his head and stretched, reaching down to his feet first, then sitting down and spreading his legs, stretching out to grab each foot.

When he felt sufficiently loose, he slipped up the wall, then leaped onto one of the platforms suspended from the ceiling by cables. Deadpool tilted his head back, eyeing the wall and the platforms, then set his own Gatorade down before taking a run at the wall.

He bounced off the wall, twisting in midair and landed on the lowest platform, then worked his way up to one hanging next to Peter's.

He stood with his hands on his hips, tilting his head.

“So...”

“Closer,” Peter said. Wade sighed and hopped over onto the platform Peter occupied after the Spider Man slid back to allow him some room. He sat straddling it, legs on either side, while the boy did his Spidey crouch. For a moment, Peter felt dizzy and had to close his eyes to settle his stomach. He breathed in through his nose deeply.

“So...”

“Remember that time I told you a secret?” Peter felt nervous as he slid closer to the mercenary, sitting with his legs over one side of the platform.

“Yeah...?”

“I have another one.” Peter eyed him closely.

“Okay.”

The younger man gestured for him to lean in. Wade slipped his leg back over the platform so that he was sitting with his legs facing the same way as Peter's and scooted closer.

“I'm all ears.”

“JARVIS?” Peter called.

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you play one of Tony's playlists?”

“Would you like Sir's exercise mix?”

“It doesn't really matter. Anything. Just turn the volume up.”

“Yes, sir.”

A song began to play, the sound of flutes and drums cascading down to their ears.

“ _Can you hear the drums Fernando?”_

“Ooh, I love this song!” Wade perked up. "I remember long ago, another starry night like thiiis!" 

Peter elbowed him. "Listen!" 

"What? I am listening!" 

"To _me_ , genius." Peter whispered after rolling his eyes “JARVIS can hear almost anything we say." Wade leaned in. “But most of his sound sensors are in the walls and we're at a convenient distance from them that I doubt he can hear what I'm saying now. Especially with music over it."

“Can't you just ask him not to listen?” Wade whispered back, not turning his head, swaying slightly to the music.

“I could, but he would still record it and what I'm about to say I don't want anyone to know except you.”

The mercenary turned to eye him curiously.

“Why me?”

“You're not an Avenger.”

Wade sat up slightly. His mask eyes actually narrowed and at any other time, Peter might have actually inspected it or asked how the hell he was doing it.

“What are you planning?”

Peter glanced up and around them with a sigh. He leaned back in to whisper against Wade's ear again, trying to hide his lips from any cameras.

“I can't just sit here and do nothing. I have to get out of the tower. You can obviously get out whenever you want. Hence Maria's Burritos.”

“Maybe I had them ordered?”

Peter frowned. “There has to be a way for me to slip out of the tower.”

“Look, even if I _could_ help you escape Castle Stark, why would I necessarily want to? I mean, you're safe here. Like I said, Hydra is serious shit. They'll be looking for you.”

“If the Avengers get involved and they _will_ , Hydra will hurt Gwen. They won't hesitate. I don't care _what_ Natasha says. She doesn't know Osborn the way I do.”

Deadpool sighed. “Spidey...”

“Wade, please. There's a way out of here and I know you know what it is.”

The mercenary pushed himself up, then hopped over to another platform.

“I need to use the facilities,” he said loud and clearly. Peter rolled his eyes. “I'm gonna go sit on the porcelain throne, Spidey. Fernandooo!”

“Thanks,” the younger man made a face. “Thanks for the details.”

“I'll let you know how things _come out_ ,” Deadpool said, jumping down to the next platform and causing it to sway. He grabbed onto one of the cables and rocked with it, singing. “Fernandooo!”

Peter made another face, then his eyes lit up. Was Wade saying... he would think about it?

He watched the mercenary leave.

“You can turn off the music now, JARVIS.”

The music stopped immediately.

“Yes, sir.” Was he imagining things or did JARVIS have a tone of disapproval?

 

“Kid's already planning to do stuff on his own,” Wade said as he walked up behind Romanoff in the common room. “He and I had a chat-”

“I know,” she raised an eyebrow. “Not that JARVIS could hear, but Peter is hardly the best at being subtle and we know that you two had a chat. It wasn't hard for me to guess what it was about.”

“So the Avengers are having closed door meetings without Parker and this is supposed to make him trust you... how?” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why did you tell me this?” she stepped toward the kitchen area in bare feet.

“Maybe because you're suspicious of me. And it's annoying.”

“Well, now you know how we feel,” she smiled over her shoulder as she opened the fridge. “The annoying bit, I mean.”

“Nice.”

“Do whatever Peter tells you to do,” she said as she fished out a bottle of something.

“Uh... why?”

“Because,” she closed the door and turned to eye him. “If you don't, he'll know if something's up and then he'll try to deal with this on his own. And we don't want to see what happens if he does that.”

“So... you trust me?”

“I trust you not to get him killed,” she twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip. “Since he seems to trust you enough to share secrets he keeps from us.”

“Are you jelly?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Peter is very smart. Smart and unfortunately reckless.”

“He wants me to help him slip out of the tower,” Wade glanced toward the elevator.

“Interesting,” Natasha smiled as she set the bottle on the counter island. “Do you know how?”

“Of course I can slip out of here,” he huffed. “How else do you think I went to Maria's Burritos? They don't deliver.”

“You could have asked, you know.”

“I could have.”

“You could just be trying to earn my trust,” she fiddled with the bottle cap, eyeing him. “So I'll let my guard down...”

“I could,” he rolled his eyes. “Except I'm not that smart and you and I both know that.”

“You're smarter than you act.” She winced. “As much as it pains me to admit. And you are trying to earn my trust.”

“Only so that you'll get off my back. Don't get me wrong, Avenger's Tower is pretty swanky but I'd rather not be trapped here forever. The whole Hal 9000 'I'm sorry, I can't do that, Wade' vibe is really starting to freak me out.”

Natasha snorted.

“Fine,” she took a sip of the drink again, then capped it and turned to eye him. “Just do what Peter tells you to do and fill me in on the details. We'll cover the rest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fernando” is a song by ABBA. It is about two veteran revolutionaries of the Mexican-American war. It's actually kind of a sad song despite it's quirky upbeat tune. I don't know why I picked it for this scene, it was just in my head. Somehow Deadpool and ABBA make perfect sense together. 
> 
> Also, a link to a really cute Spideypool t shirt design that I saw today:
> 
> http://www.teeturtle.com/products/pucker-up


	16. Senor Casenas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets his webs back and gets a peek at Wade's bachelor pad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update has taken a while! I'm swamped with class work and all kinds of nonsense. Got a midterm coming up. :P   
> Anyway, here's some more Spideypool. The next chapter will have a lot more action.

“What is that smell?” Peter scowled as they stepped into a service elevator.

“The inner workings of Stark Tower.” Wade said slowly, lifting his chin. Peter rolled his eyes.

“I'm pretty sure it's you. Why do you smell like... burnt crap?”

“Uh, maybe my microwave burned my lunch, I don't know.”

“You have a microwave?” Peter tilted his head. “I thought you just bought burritos at food trucks all the time.”

“I also eat pizza. And we've eaten hot dogs together.”

“True,” Peter was actually intrigued. “So you have like, an apartment?”

“Like, totally an apartmeeent!”

Peter punched him in the ribs and Wade groaned, coughing.

“Jeez. What the hell, Parker?”

“Answer my question and stop making fun of me.”

“Okay fine...” Wade pressed a button to halt the elevator. “I have an apartment, yes. Where do you think I sleep? I have to live _somewhere_.”

“I don't know,” Peter's lips stretched at one corner. “I guess...” He thought of Gwen and his frown faded. “Nevermind. I just thought...”

“That I sleep on rooftops or something?”

The teen stared at him. Then he rolled his eyes and pressed the button to start the elevator's downward descent again.

“Okay, nevermind. Forget it.” Wade shook his head. Peter was wearing a hoodie and jeans, the hood pulled up to hide his face from JARVIS's cameras though he suspected JARVIS would probably be able to tell who he was anyway.

“So how is this supposed to get me out of here without JARVIS stopping me?”

“Kay, so the main elevators are operated by the AI. But the service elevators aren't. They're operated by these keys, which are given to people who work in the building,” Wade waved a card he'd swiped over a light by the elevator door to open it.

Peter stared at the key silently for a moment. Then he sighed. “You stole that, didn't you?”

He snatched the key before Wade could make a protest, frowning at a picture ID of a heavyset man.

“Hey! I found that, it's mine!”

“Fernando Casenas. Well, someone's going to be in trouble because of you.”

“And because of you now, since you're in the elevator with me! Ha!”

“So what floor are you taking us to?”

“Garage, of course.”

“You mean Tony's private garage? You realize we'll get spotted there by JARVIS, right?”

“We've already been spotted. There's a camera in here too. He just can't override this one.”

Peter frowned. “That doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't Tony make it so that JARVIS had complete control over the building?”

“Fuck if I know,” Wade shrugged. “Plot hole? Who's writing this anyway?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Forget I asked. But thanks for stealing someone's ID card and telling me about this convenient escape route.”

He smiled flatly as the elevator came to a stop, pocketing the ID card. The door slid open and he stepped out, the merc following.

“Okay... not Tony's private garage.”

“I guess not. What's that look like?”

“Beautiful and really expensive cars everywhere,” Peter said. “I guess you _wouldn't_ be allowed in there.”

Wade shook his fist. “Bastards! They can't keep me out forever.”

“JARVIS probably can,” Peter nodded. “Anyway, makes sense that it would lead to a general employee garage. And look at that – wide open.” Peter jogged toward the little gate, Wade following.

“Excuse me,” a woman in uniform sitting in the little box at the gate frowned at them. “Uh... who are you?”

Wade waved a hand. “It's me Letty!”

“Oh. Hi, Wade!” she smiled. “You going out for something to eat?”

“Letty?”

“This is Arletta, she's the guard here. It's cool, Letty. Nerd's with me.” He clapped a hand onto Peter's shoulder. “And yeah, we're just gonna pick up some snacks. Can I bring ya anything?”

“Nah, I'm good. I need to watch my weight actually,” she made a face, rubbing her stomach.

“Bah! You look great!”

“Ah, get outta here,” she snorted and waved a hand at him.

“Look at you, turning on the charm,” Peter said after waving to her and following him through. “How'd you convince her not to report you?”

“She thinks I'm a new Avenger!” He smiled. “Which, I _am_ by the way-”

“Uh, no you're not,” Peter shook his head as they headed up an incline to ground level and the public sidewalk.

“Sure, I am! I'm on a trial basis, remember? Green card to come and go as I please!”

“Which is totally why you stole Señor Casenas's ID card.”

“Bah, he'll get another one,” Wade waved a hand. “Speaking of which, can I have that one back?”

“As soon as you help me find Gwen,” Peter said.

“What... we're searching for her now?”

“No. I'm going to my Aunt's house,” Peter came to a stop, raising an eyebrow at the merc. “You can come with me but only if you change into something less... obvious.”

Wade huffed. “What's wrong with my outfit?”

Peter gestured to the passersby on the sidewalk who were slowing down to eye them curiously.

“You're kind of noticeable.”

“Well you're kind of noticeable in your Spidey clothes!”

Peter stared at him.

“Okay, fine! Just... hold on and let me change... Could have mentioned that while we were upstairs, ya know! How about this – we go to my apartment first? I change duds, then we go to your Aunt's house. That cool?”

Peter made a face. “I don't know... I shouldn't be going to a strange man's apartment...”

“Aw come on, you're like seventeen, that's... That's totally not creepy at all, right?”

“Mm...” Peter tilted his head in thought.

“Okay it's a little creepy. But I promise not to molest you if you promise not to tell anybody where I live. Cool?”

Peter gave him another raised eyebrow. “Cause that's totally a fair deal.”

“Look, you want me to change clothes or not?”

“All right, fine, let's go!” Peter rolled his eyes but was hiding a smile. It was kind of fun giving the merc shit.

“Hey, I take my personal life seriously! My private life. Whatever.”

 

Deadpool waved down a taxi or actually Peter did because they all refused to stop for a man in a red and black suit with katanas on his back.

“Big surprise,” Peter said when one stopped for him, glancing to the merc.

“Racism. Pure and simple.”

“How is...” Peter shook his head as he climbed into the back of the cab. “Nevermind.”

He let out a noise of protest as Deadpool flung himself into the backseat with him, shoving Peter along.

“You need to calm down!” Peter snapped.

“You're the one with no chill, bruh,” Wade responded, leaning forward and holding out a wad of cash that he'd pulled out from somewhere. The taxi driver's eyes widened.

“Damn, son, where you want to go?” he took the wad, counting the bills. “This'll get you to Rhode Island!”

“Hell's Kitchen, friend! Then we gotta go to Queens for this nerd.”

“Hell's Kitchen? You live in...” Peter rolled his eyes. “Why did I not see that coming.”

Wade threw himself back into the seat, shoving into Peter's shoulder. The younger man shoved him back.

“Get away from me. It's called personal space, Wade.”

“Well, you're all mouth breathing all over me.”

The driver chuckled as he pulled them away from the curb.

“I do not mouth breathe!”

* * *

 

Peter sighed and winced as Deadpool sang along to the radio.

“Papa was a rolling stone! Wherever he laid his hat was his home!”

“This is why I web places,” he muttered.

“And when he died!” Wade clapped his hands to the rhythm. “All he left us was alone!”

“Yeah, that's a good song,” the driver mused.

“Please don't encourage him,” Peter said, then let out a sigh of relief as they pulled up to a curb.

“Is that enough money for you to wait like ten minutes?” Wade asked the driver, his foot already sticking out of the door of the cab.

“Five maybe.”

“Six?”

“Five.”

“Okay! Five it is!” He hopped out of the cab and Peter followed, letting out a sound of irritation when the merc shut the door in his face.

“Ass,” he grumbled as he stepped out. Deadpool was already skipping ahead into an alleyway.

“C'mon Spidey!”

Peter watched, making a face, as Deadpool climbed up a very rusty fire escape and flung himself through an open window.

“It ain't Sesame Street, but it's home!” he shouted out the window a moment later, then disappeared inside.

Peter rolled his eyes and after checking to make sure no one was watching, scooted up the wall. He crouched in the window and stared into a studio apartment that was, not suprisingly, a disaster zone.

“Hey it looks like the one from my video game!” Wade called from what Peter guessed to be a bedroom. The younger man slipped inside slowly, raising an eyebrow at a not very well hidden cache of weapons and a smattering of disturbing graffiti on the walls.

He covered his mouth with a hand, trying not to laugh, as he eyed the graffiti.

“Really?” he called. “You needed to draw arrows and make the pile of artillery even more obvious?”

“Well, in case it goes missing, I'll know that's where it was MEANT to be. Also, it's called set design, Spidey!”

The merc appeared a moment later, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a red hoodie. Under the hoodie was a baseball cap and Wade was also wearing large black sunglasses. From one shoulder, hung a bookbag.

“Yo,” he lifted a gold piece from inside the hoodie. Peter rolled his eyes.

“You have Deadpool themed bling?”

“Why not? Check out my Deadpool themed shoes, biytch!” He bent his knee inward and lifted his heel, turning his shoe to the side.

“Are those DC?” Peter was trying not to laugh again and failing. “And you took their logo off and stuck your own symbol on it! Okay, I think I've seen enough.”

“Hold up!” Wade practically skipped past him to the pile of weapons. He unzipped the bookbag and tossed several guns inside along with boxes of bullets and a grenade.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peter waved his hands. “No. No, you put all of that back, right now!”

“Heeeell no.” Wade said, moving to the kitchenette and searching through cupboards until he found what he was looking for – a bag of Doritos. After stuffing them halfhazardly into the bookbag, he went to the fridge – which, like the rest of the apartment, looked like it had been through several cooking disasters and a home invasion or two - and yanked the freezer door open.

“Fuck yes!” He pumped a fist in the air, then grabbed a box of Taquitos and tossed it into the bookbag too. He followed that up by holding the bag close to the freezer and scraping several frozen burritos into it. “Supplies!” He turned to grin at Peter.

This was the first time he'd really gotten a good look at the other man's unmasked face. Peter eyed his chin closely for a minute, then looked away.

“Really? We're doing the whole face thing already?” Wade gestured at himself with a finger. He zipped up the bookbag, shoving the freezer door shut behind him and shook his head as he walked closer to Peter. He yanked off the sunglasses.

“You got a good look yet?” he stared with jaundiced eyes into the younger man's. Peter winced. “Yeah. I thought so.” He put the sunglasses back on.

“Wait...” Peter held up his hands.

“Nope. You can't stare at my ugly later.” He grabbed Peter by the shoulder and began to push him out the window.

“Why can't,” he grunted as he climbed through the window. “We just use the front door-”

“Booby trapped. Probably. I don't know. Ha, I said booby! Now hurry up, taxi's waiting!”

Peter slid down the hall, then jumped the last few feet to the ground. He looked up and Wade shook the bookbag at him before tossing it. Peter caught it, and then the merc swung himself through the window. For a moment, he pretended to toss himself out too.

“Catch meee!”

“Uh, nope.” Peter hopped back. “Not doing that.”

“Lame!” Deadpool scowled as he hopped onto the fire escape and then clambered down. Peter rolled his eyes when he noticed the merc had one of his katanas strapped to his back still.

“Are you serious?” he gestured to the sword even as he swung the bookbag onto his own shoulder.

“What? It's called urban style, bruh. I wore this outfit in... hm. I don't know it looks familiar. Anyway!”

Peter rolled his eyes and hurried toward the street, stopping to peek at the people passing by on the sidewalk. He glanced across the street too, and up at the windows of the buildings. His heart was beating fast – he hadn't really been thinking about it earlier but now he realized this was his first time out in the streets of New York after...

Peter shook his head and wiped the back of a hand across his sweating forehead. He licked his lips and nearly jumped when he turned his head and Deadpool was behind him, to the right.

“Jesus!”

“Hey, whoa! Take it easy, Spides!”

Peter rubbed a hand over the bridge of his nose. He'd been picturing Osborn in his mind – the green cape rustling, the dark alley...

He realized the smell of this alley was reminding him of the one from that night.

“Come on,” he lightly shrugged Wade's hand off of his shoulder and headed to the taxi. “I'm fine.”

The merc shrugged but followed him.

* * *

 

“Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows!” Wade snapped his fingers as he sang along to the radio. “Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together!”

Peter sighed, his head resting back against the backseat of the taxi. He shook his head slightly but he was smiling a little. The cab driver was chuckling and whistling along as he drove them to Queens.

He felt good heading back to Queens. The anxiety he'd felt earlier had slipped away as they left Manhattan. He was going home. It would feel good, he knew, the smell of Aunt May's house – the sight of his own room. He'd feel normal again, maybe.

Then he thought of Gwen and his stomach twisted. He couldn't be cheerful while she was held captive somewhere.

“Hey, Spidey, come on! Sing with us!”

“No thanks,” he raised an eyebrow at the merc as Wade snapped his fingers and bounced in the seat. Peter had found himself eyeing the other man's profile curiously during the ride. Wade gave him a look and his face flushed as he realized he was caught staring.

“What? Oh god, we're not doing the whole 'Ugly face drama' thing now, are we?”

“No,” Peter frowned deeply, looking away. “Um. I mean, honestly it's-”

“Don't say it's _not that bad_ ,” the merc's hands dropped, no longer snapping. He huffed and slumped back against the seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Screw you, Parker. I'm hideous!”

“You're really not that-”

“Don't. Just don't.” The merc raised an eyebrow. His eyebrows were very pale and sure, his face was scarred and in places disturbingly bruised, flaking, or even sporting weals, but in a certain light, Peter thought, the merc's features could almost be handsome.

Okay, he really _had_ spent too long with Osborn.

But maybe it was just the photographer in him, Peter thought. He couldn't help but think Wade might make a good subject.

He winced internally at his own thoughts. He didn't like thinking of Wade as a 'subject.' Somehow it just sounded wrong. Like he was a science... experiment.

He decided not to follow that train of thought.

Okay, so maybe they had some similarities. Peter was bit by a spider and got really awesome powers, though. He could climb walls, swing across his webs through the city... Wade got horribly deformed from... well, from wherever he got his abilities.

Then again, he could fight, almost better than Peter. Well, he could fight better than Peter, considering his combat skills – there was no denying, however obnoxious Wade could be – and he was talented with those katanas. Peter's main advantages were his reflexes and his webs.

Without his webs, really, Deadpool would probably win in a fight between them. But Peter would never admit that in a million years. He could probably outsmart Deadpool.

It almost made him want to challenge the merc, but God, no, that was a crazy idea.

'Focus, Parker,' he thought, feeling disgusted with himself again. Gwen was a prisoner of Hydra and all he could think about was some stupid dick waving contest with Deadpool of all people.

But the fight was boiling away in his blood, under the surface. Peter was itching to bring it to Hydra, to bring it to Osborn. He would, too.

“Hey, Parker?” the merc was poking him and Peter's face flushed as he realized that he'd zoned out.

'Get it together!'

“We're home!” The merc grinned crazily at him – he was already standing by the door of the taxi, waiting for Peter to slip out. Wade stepped up to the front of the taxi, opened the passenger door, and began to count out bills, sliding his hand over a stack of them held in his other hand, tossing them to the cab driver like a man at a strip club. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Just give him the money!”

“Hey,” the cab driver spluttered, but looked pleased at the amount he was getting.

“Ten, twenty, thirty – one fifty, here ya go pal!” Wade tossed the rest in on the seat, then shut the passenger door. Peter had already shut the door to the back seat and was holding Wade's bookbag out to him. He almost missed his own bookbag.

Wade grinned at him, took the bag, then waved at the cab as it pulled away from the curb a few moments later.

Peter was about to give the cab a wave when he realized they were standing in front of his house which was probably being watched by both SHIELD and Hydra and he nearly let out an 'Eep!'

“Come on, dork,” Wade threw an arm around his neck and hauled him toward the house. Peter jerked out of his hold and nearly webbed him to the porch before he realized he wasn't wearing his shooters. His face was flushed.

“Don't. Do that. Again.” He stared at the merc, his heart pounding. He glanced around, his skin crawling.

“Okay,” he was holding up his hands and his face was puzzled. “Sorry, man.”

Peter swallowed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He was about to say 'it's okay' but he didn't know why. He knew Wade hadn't meant anything by it.

“Let's just go inside,” he said, passing the taller man toward the back of the house. Wilson followed him quickly, thank God.

Peter led him to the basement, unlocking it with the key tucked above the door. It was how he always got in if he got locked out.

He slipped into the basement, heading down the stairs as Deadpool followed.

Breathing in the old dust of the familiar house made something in Peter's chest settle. He felt almost complete again and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

“Whew! You need a fan down here. Dat mold.” Wade headed into the basement, toward a table covered in tools. It was where Peter usually worked on things these days. He was reminded of Uncle Ben and felt the familiar distant pang. Had he just become so hardened to people dying that he didn't even think about his uncle anymore?

He didn't have time to think about this, and yet he felt exhausted.

“I'm gonna make some coffee,” he said as he headed up the stairs toward the kitchen. He pulled out the key again and unlocked the kitchen door – Uncle Ben had emphasized security back in the day. He smiled fondly as he remembered installing the door and lock with his Uncle.

He stepped pass the small laundry area and into the kitchen feeling lighter already. Aunt May had left the light over the oven on as usual. He walked over to the fridge, just because, and pulled the door open.

“Ooh, brownies!”

“Jesus!” he jerked back as he realized Deadpool had walked up behind him.

“Don't mind if I do...” Wade yanked the fridge door from him and held it open as he reached in for the plate of brownies.

“Hey!” Peter smacked his hand. “You have to ask first!”

“Jeez! Okay.” Wade released the brownie plate. “May I please have a brow-”

“No,” Peter said with a smug look and yanked the plate from the fridge. “Mine.”

“Wow, you're a great host. Winning charm there.”

“Yeah yeah,” Peter took a brownie from the plate and stuffed it into his mouth, humming at the chocolatey taste. Then again... He frowned, eyeing the plate. Maybe he shouldn't have had the one. What if Aunt May had made them for something else? He tried to think, chewing.

She had to have made them a few days prior, since she'd been staying at Stark – Avengers Tower.

They were a bit hard, probably from living in the fridge.

“Hey!” he cried, muffled, as Wade snatched one.

“Mua haha ha!”

Peter would have webbed it back if he could but he just rolled his eyes and set the plate on the kitchen island. Then he went to the coffee maker and poured out the stale coffee left inside.

Wade was munching the brownie and humming in pleasure, his eyes closed. Peter watched him openly for a moment as he rinsed out the coffee pot. It was weird, seeing Deadpool's face. It was damaged, yeah, but from certain angles he could almost be handsome. He must have been pretty attractive once and wasn't that a weird thought?

Peter blinked and shook his head. Whatever. Done rising out the pot, he shook the remaining water droplets from it into the sink, then stuck it back in the coffee maker.

He found coffee and a filter and soon had it brewing. He scowled as he watched Deadpool take another brownie and groan, stuffing his face.

“This is kinda pornographic, writer.”

“Ew, no it is not,” Peter made a face. There was something kind of funny about watching Deadpool stuff his face with his aunt's brownies, right here in Peter's kitchen. With a roll of his eyes, he headed back down the stairs, snagging another brownie on the way down.

The sugar boistered him and soon he was turning on the lights in the basement and gathering tools. His mind was already a whirl with improvements he wanted to make on his suit. He would need a new suit of course. Then there were the adjustments to his web shooters. Tony Stark had offered to help him with them and Peter really was flattered, but he figured he could get started on them now and maybe have Tony look at them some other time.

He was starting to feel pretty good about everything. Wade came down with another brownie in hand while he chewed and to Peter's surprise – two mugs of coffee on a little circular tray.

“Oh. Thanks.” He took a mug.

“Sugar,” Deadpool patted Aunt May's sugar bowl and set the tray on the work bench. Then he leaned against a wall with his own mug and stuffed his face as he sipped coffee. Peter fought a smile as he continued the delicate work he'd started. “Whatcha doin?”

“Just trying to figure out...” he turned his head sideways, plastic safety glasses over his eyes as he examined one of the shooters. “How I can make this shoot faster?”

Wade reached over with a hand and pretended to stroke it, increasing his pace as he did.

“Very funny,” Peter rolled his eyes, but in spite of himself, he laughed. “Okay now I'm laughing at your jokes. I'm worried about myself.”

“I'm worried about you too. And me,” Wade sipped his coffee. Funny, here in Peter's basement, it was almost difficult to even think of him as Deadpool. He was dressed like any other guy – well, with the exception of all the Deadpool merchandise.

“Where'd you get all that stuff anyway?” Peter asked as he went back to fiddling with the web shooters. “I didn't know they sold Deadpool stuff.”

“They do, actually!” The merc grinned in a manner that was so comically smug, Peter started to chuckle and shake his head. “What? The hell's so funny, Parker?”

He sighed, looking at the ejection system in his shooter. “Nothing.” But he couldn't stop the smile on his lips.

A pounding at the basement door nearly made him jump.

“Oh shit,” Wade said, mouth full of brownie bite. “Popos!” He left his coffee on the work table and started to shuffle up the stairs. “Let's roll, cholo!”

“SHIELD popos,” Peter groaned as he collected his shooters and some tools. He ignored the knocking and decided to follow Wade up the stairs into the house.

“Let's take these with us,” the merc said, finishing off his brownie. “Mm, your Aunt can bake. Jesus, Parker.”

“Yeah, stay away from my aunt. And put those back where you found them.”

“Mr Parker, open up!”

He rolled his eyes at the voice. Definitely SHIELD.

The two moved upstairs to Peter's room where he found a duffel back that he stuffed his things into. He then shoved the bag into Wade's hands as he turned to his closet and began to wriggle out of his clothes to pull on his last spare Spidey costume. This one had a rip in the knee but it would have to do for now.

“Whoa!” Wade nearly threw the duffel bag as he turned to put his back to Peter.

The younger man froze for a moment. He'd yanked his shirt off without thinking but now...

He hadn't been in close proximity to anyone else without his clothes on in... well, in a few days at least. He shuddered at the thought and shook his head, glancing over his shoulder. He was relieved to find Wade with his back still turned, hands on his hips, waiting. He was, inexplicably, wearing his Deadpool costume again. Peter stared before shaking his head and quickly returning to getting into his costume. At last, he slid his mask over his face. He felt a nice wave of calm over his whole body. He was Spidey again.

“So are SHIELD like vampires where they can't enter your house without permission?”

Peter snorted as he took his web shooters and checked them to make sure they were fine before strapping them to his wrists. God, it felt so good to have them there again!

“Something like that. Maybe they're just finally scared of Aunt May.”

“Good on her then,” Wade said, shoving the window open. He wriggled out of the window, Peter following and shoving their bags through – Deadpool's and his. The merc grumbled but slipped the strap of his own bag over his shoulders, then held on to Peter's while the wall crawler shot a stream of webbing at a pole.

Below them, a pair of SHIELD agents gathered, frowning.

“Mr Parker,” one of them, a young woman, said with a sigh. “Please get down from there.”

“I will in just a minute!” Peter called, tugging the line tight. He slipped his other arm around Wade who slapped at his shoulder.

“You strapping young man!” he giggled, then looped his own arm around Peter's waist.

“Ugh,” Peter grunted as he swung them off the low roof and up onto another roof nearby. “We're just doing this until we get to a subway entrance!”

“What? I don't get the full romantic skyline treatment?”

“Nope!” Peter said as he released Wade and ran across the roof to leap on to the next one. Wade followed.

“Hey, at least carry your own bag if you're not gonna carry me, jerk!”

“Nope!” Peter laughed as he raced ahead, ignoring the calls of the SHIELD agents from below. “Hurry up, Deadpool!” Excitement was flooding his veins at being above the street again, having access to his webs and the whole of the New York skyline ahead.

 

 


	17. Laying Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Deadpool regroup at Wade's place. Peter feels ready to go, but is he making the right decision?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in forever/college and classwork kept me away/blah blah blah... 
> 
> FINALLY. This story is moving again! Prepare for an action packed chapter next update! Expect regular updates now that I'm DONE WITH THE SEMESTER *lighting strikes* *insert maniacal laughter here*

“SPIDEY AND I ARE MOVING IN TOGETHERRR!” Wade sang as they flew through the sky.

“No we are _not!_ ” Peter pretended to release Wade who began to wriggle and shout in protest, then deftly caught him around the waist again on a downward arc.

“Hey! Spiderpig!”

“What?”

“Spiderpig, Spiderpig,” Wade sang, shifting onto Peter's back so that the younger man could use both arms to swing and web. “Does whatever a Spiderpig does!”

Peter snorted. “Where do you.... Hey, how did you know my ring tone?”

Wade turned his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

“Really, author?”

Hey, it's not my fault they included the ring tone in the latest films.

“You're nuts,” Peter said.

“I'm not the only one!” Wade shook his head. “I mean, how do you presume to take on Hydra by yourself?”

“I'm not by myself,” Peter said, without thinking. Then he felt his face grow hot.

“All by myse-e-elf,” Wade sang, rubbing at his face with a hand and Peter wondered if the mask ever snagged on his sores or if his suit ever chafed. What did he do about that? Peter's suit chafed all the time. It had to be horribly itchy for Wade and... eww, Peter did not want to think about that.

He had one hilarious thought out of this though. At least now he knew what to get Wade for Christmas – a basket full of Bath and Body works stuff.

He let out a giggle as he flew, wondering if he really was starting to lose his mind. Maybe hanging around Deadpool just made that happen.

“So uh... where are we going?”

“Your place,” Peter said. “I want to work somewhere in peace that isn't Stark Tower.”

“What if the SHIELD popo's find my apartment, bruh? I don't want them up in my bidness.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? A millenial?”

“Yeah. But a really _awkward_ millenial!” he grunted at the last word as they reached Wade's apartment and he webbed to the fire escape, pulling tight on the line and hauling them toward it. The merc screamed and somehow ended up bridal style in Peter's arms as they landed.

“What the hell,” Peter said with a laugh. “Calm down.”

Wade cooed up at him. “My hero!”

“Ha, no thanks,” Peter dropped him – the merc slipping out of his hands and landing on his feet on the fire escape which creaked.

“Okay, ominous creaking. Let's go inside!” The merc tossed their bags in through the window, then climbed in himself after them. Peter followed a moment later, giving the alley one last glimpse to make sure they weren't being followed.

“So do you ever actually get visitors?” Peter wondered after slipping through the window and closing it behind him. The panes rattled when he did and he winced.

“Hey! Easy on the hardware, kid.” Wade called, pointing at him, before turning and tossing all of his burritos from his backpack back into the freezer. “Snack tiiiime!” He sang as he tossed two into the microwave. “Make yourself at home, Spides! Mi casa es-”

Peter shoved a bunch of junk off of Wade's kitchen table and began to set up a work space.

“Okay. That's uh... that's good too.”

He looked around, frowning at the lack of light in the room. He walked over to the light switch and flicked it, frowning even more deeply when the ceiling light came on for a second before making a popping noise and going off.

"Wow," Wade huffed. "Nice." 

Peter gave him a raised eyebrow, then caught sight of a shoddy looking standing lamp in the corner of the room. He grabbed it and dragged it over to the table.

“Wow, when did you get this lamp? Nineteen ninety six?”

“I don't know,” Wade frowned and shrugged. “I don't recognize that lamp. Probably just a random prop from the writer.”

Peter paused for a second as he set his duffel bag on the table. Then he shook his head, turned the lamp on, and nearly jumped when it sparked and flickered before staying on.

“So tell me... who is this omniscient writer?” The younger man's eyes settled on the shooter intensely, sucking his lower lip in to chew on it in thought. It felt so good to be somewhere reasonably quiet with a light source working on his tools. He felt his shoulders slowly relax from their former tension.

Deadpool was circling the lamp suspiciously, frowning and tilting his head.

“Why is my lamp such a piece of shit? I mean, why is my whole apartment always such a _shithole?_ ”

“Because you never clean it? Hey, wait a second,” Peter stopped. “You're a merc, right?”

“Yeah...”

“And you work fairly regularly I'm assuming," Peter fought the internal cringe that came with thinking about Wade's 'line of work.' 

“Sure.”

“So...” Peter gestured around him. “Why do you live in absolute filth?" 

“It's not _absolute_ filth. It's...” Wade looked around. “This is a mancave, Spides. A _real_ mancave.”

“Ah hah.” Peter nodded. “You were just calling it a shithole.”

“Shithole, mancave – home sweet home!” Wade shrugged and headed over to the microwave where the burritos were starting to give off a meaty smell. “Hey you want something to eat?”

"Um... No thanks. Did you eat all the brownies?”

“What?” Wade shook his head. “What kind of _selfish glutton_ do you take me for?”

“Um. Okay.” Peter shrugged, fighting a small smile of amusement as he shook his head at the man's antics again. He searched through his bag for his small toolkit. He wanted to make some more adjustments to his shooters. Then he plied his web shooters from his wrists and set them on the table.

“Oooh can I see can I see-”

“No!” Peter yanked them away before the merc could grab one.

“Aww, but I wanna try!”

“Later!”

“You're just saying that,” the merc pouted, but turned back to the microwave which was now beeping. “You sure you don't want a burrito, chump?”

“You're the chump,” Peter said lightly, eyes focused on one of his shooters as he looked it over. “And I'm good. I had brownies earlier.” He stopped and frowned. “Why do you keep eating?”

“Helps with the whole... regenerative shimanylim thing.”

“The whole what?” Peter raised an eyebrow. He knew Wade had some sort of super healing powers – or had to anyway, the guy only got shot all the time – but he didn't really understand where they'd come from or how they worked. He realized he'd probably never even asked about Wade's powers, or if he had the merc had probably never given him a straight answer anyway. 

“My regenerative healing powers!” Wade took a superhero stance, hands on his hips, then pumped a fist up and outward. “It's how I'm so awesome. Or part of the reason anyway.”

“Ah hah,” Peter nodded, raising his eyebrows as he returned his gaze to his work. He tweaked at the mechanism some more with a tiny screwdriver, then added a little grease, until it flowed more smoothly.

“Blah blah, the author doesn't know how to write science! Not even fake science – ha!” Wade had turned to take the burritos out of the microwave and slap them onto the last clean plate in the apartment. “Hey, I do my dishes!” He began to rifle through the cabinets, holding the plate in one hand. “That cannot be the only-” he swore and grabbed a mug from one of the bare cabinets. “Oh, that's really funny.”

“What?” Peter actually glanced toward him. He'd just finished setting the mechanism back in place.

Wade turned and held out the Captain America head mug.

“Really funny, author.”

“Why Cap?” Peter wondered after letting out a scoff and shaking his head. He was actually starting to get used to Wade's insane rambling about a writer. It reminded him of a man he'd chatted with once – some random guy he'd saved on the street who talked about God was the author of everyone's lives. Peter had just shrugged at the time and said 'Sure.' Everybody had their own philosophy.

“Why not? Have you seen this noble profile?” Wade held the Cap mug up by his own face and stuck his chin out. “Ow, hot hot hot burritos!” he turned and dropped the plate onto the counter. Then he set the mug aside and began to search for a fork. Peter chuckled and shook his head again, going back to his web shooters.

He felt a small smile of pleasure tug at his lips. Flying through the city and giving SHIELD agents the proverbial middle finger had been just what he'd needed. Not that he had anything against SHIELD, but he was really tired of people treating him like some delicate little kid. He knew the Avengers meant well but...

Then again.

He looked down at the shooters in thought, turning them over in his hands. Was this the right decision?

Could he really do this on his own?

Well he wasn't totally on his own, right? He had-

Okay this was probably a bad idea.

He thought of the night in the alley weeks before, when he'd followed Osborn unwittingly into his own capture and shuddered.

But he didn't have a _choice_. If he didn't do this, Gwen would... God even _knew_ what Hydra would do to Gwen. Just the thought of the sort of shit Hydra did to innocent people made his stomach turn.

Peter didn't know everything about what happened to Sergeant Barnes, but he'd seen enough. He'd seen the footage from the fight on the bridge in D.C and read about how the Winter Soldier callously killed agents who got in his way. He'd even thrown one agent out of a car window and in front of an oncoming bus. That man used to be Cap's _best friend_.

Peter read some of the leaked SHIELD files too, about things the Winter Soldier had done but also about things Hydra agents had done; massacres, genocide, torture, murders and assassinations, human experimentation... Hydra had no mercy. They didn't care about innocent people or collateral damage. They wouldn't hesitate to hurt Gwen.

And Osborn didn't care about Gwen – he'd proven that he didn't care about anyone who got in the way of his plans. Gwen was just a pawn to him.

What if he got impatient waiting for Peter to show up, like he had back in...

Peter began to choke and gag. Surprised, he reached for his own throat, dropping his shooters and groaning.

“Whoa!” Wade cried with a mouthful of burrito. He stepped over to thump Spider Man on the back. “You okay, Peets?”

“Y-yeah,” he coughed and cleared his throat, pushing Wade's arm away though gently. “I'm... I'm good.”

“You sure?” he continued to chew on his burrito bite. “Need some water?”

Peter shook his head. He let out a weak laugh and met Wade's eyes. “I'm fine,” he insisted. Then he looked down at his shooters again. “Just um... allergies, I guess.”

“Well it is kinda sorta spring but sort of early for pollen, so yeah, _I guess_ ,” Wade swallowed his bite of burrito and shrugged, nodding, his tone making it clear he didn't believe Peter. The merc headed back to the counter and began to shovel burrito into his mouth again.

Peter felt a rush of irritation suddenly. But he knew that insisting would just make him more suspicious. Anyway, he didn't need Wade's help or his sympathy.

Well... maybe his help fighting Hydra would be appreciated, he reluctantly admitted to himself.

He turned to look at Wade.

“I'm ready,” he said. “I've got everything together-”

“Whoa, Spiderpants, hold up!” Wade held up a hand. He was swigging down some Gatorade that came from God knows where. Peter had no clue where the man had found it but he didn't have time for that right now. “We can't just go mosey on down to the Hydra corral-”

“Why not?” Peter snapped. “I'm ready to go.”

“One does not simply roll up on Hydra-”

Peter sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Okay you know what? Fine. I don't need your help anyway.” He turned to grab his duffel bag, tossing his tools inside and zipping it up.

Deadpool chuckled as he took another bite of burrito.

“Uh, sure. Cause I'm just gonna watch you walk yourself into a shitty situation so you can get kidnapped again-”

“Fuck you!” Peter whirled around to glare at him. He'd been in the midst of putting on one of his shooters. His blood was running hot. He knew he was overreacting but he was sick and tired of everyone treating him like a kid. “I've done this before! I've faced people _worse_ than Hydra-”

“Uh, you've faced mad scientists and some criminals, but I don't think you've faced a _terrorist organization_ with a mad scientist, no,” Wade said. “Unless the author is including the Kingpin-”

“Fuck your author!” Peter couldn't stand this anymore. “I'm tired of listening to you ramble about stupid shit. Gwen is in trouble and if I don't go now-”

“Nothing is going to happen to her,” Wade threw his hands up, tossing his fork over his shoulder. “Ya know why? Because Hydra is _waiting_ for you to do _exactly_ what you're going to do, which is show up and get your ass royally handed to you. So why don't you just-”

“Oh, I'm going to get my ass handed to me?” Peter scoffed. “You know what? I'm done talking to you. I can do this, with or without your help.” He shook his head as he turned and began to strap on the other shooter to his spare wrist. “You know, it's funny that I even thought you'd be of any help.”

“Kid, look-”

“Wow, call me a kid,” Peter muttered, his hands fumbling in irritation as he strapped on the shooter. He took a deep breath.

'Get it together. What is wrong with you? Calm down.'

“That really helps. When people treat me like I haven't done this before.”

“You know, you're right,” Wade leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He picked up his Gatorade from the counter and took another sip. “You have done this before.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“And it ended so fucking badly that if you weren't such an iconic character, you'd probably be dead.”

Peter blew a breath out of his nose heavily. He restrained himself from throwing a shooter at Deadpool or better yet, webbing him right in his big fat mouth.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, turning to look Deadpool right in the eyes before pulling his mask down over his face.

“Ooh, significant moment!” Wade capped the bottle he was drinking from and threw it down in annoyance, wiggling his fingers. “Go ahead! Walk away! Don't forget to look back over your shoulder and say something witty.”

Peter had already turned his back. He stopped for a moment, by the window, then shook his head and lifted the window before climbing out.

He webbed a moment later and swung away.

Wade stood there for a moment, arms crossed over his chest, glaring after the spider man. He swore and yanked his mask down over his lips.

“Fucking son of a...” he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and began to text. 

 

* * *

 

Natasha's cell phone vibrated in her back pocket and she stiffened.

Tony and Steve, standing in the lab and looking over the plans of the building closest to the coordinates Hydra had sent in the video to Peter, looked up at her.

Looking back at them, she raised her eyebrows as she slid her phone out of her pocket and looked at it.

She rolled her eyes at the text, slowly.

“Spidey's rollin out, Widow babe,” it read. “Time to show u my slice n dice skills. Prepare to be awed.”

“What...” Tony started to ask, glancing to Steve and back to her.

“It's time to go,” she told them. “Peter's on his way to the site. Suit up.”

Steve sighed and he and Tony shared a look before the Captain turned and began to hurry toward the Tower's armory.

Meanwhile Tony raised his eyebrows. “Well JARVIS?”

“Avenger's Assemble,” the AI began to announce. “I'm on it, Sir.”

 

 

 


	18. Solo Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's tired of waiting for the Avenger's to act. He's going back to fighting solo. But can he take on Hydra by himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens! Yay! Some of it pretty scary stuff, so warnings for this chapter: blackmail, threats, and torture yaaay! I mean nooo!   
> Just so you know. Not heavy torture but still scary.

Peter headed out of the city, toward the upstate. He was able to swing through the city but he had to go to ground once he reached the edge of the concrete jungle. It was jarring, having to move through suburbs, often by foot as the roofs became fewer and fewer between. Peter wasn't exactly an expert at swinging from tree to tree and he didn't really like messing with power lines.

He knew where the coordinates led to, having looked up the spot himself using online maps. It took him about thirty minutes to get to the location.

First, he checked out the abandoned building nearby. It looked like an old warehouse. What was it with bad guys and old warehouses?

He crept around and noted at least two agents hiding out inside of it. They had to be agents. These guys were hanging around an abandoned dump way too _casually_ – one on the first floor of the warehouse and one on the second – not to be waiting for someone and they had earpieces. He rolled his eyes under his mask. They were dressed casually but he could tell they were armed. One guy kept reaching toward his own belt as Peter watched.

He considered webbing them or taking them out, but hostility would cause Hydra to react badly and this might be his only chance.

He might have to at least play along.

He wondered if these guys had been visiting the same sight every single day since the email containing the video had been sent to him. Had they just camped out here, waiting?

He didn't see any bags or supplies so he guessed that if they were packing anything, it was just typical pistols – no tranquilizers. Would they contact Osborn as soon as they saw him? How was this going to work exactly? Were they going to try to bring him in? The idea was laughable.

Osborn had been able to capture him but that was because he had tranquilizers. He was also super strong, enough to compete with Spider Man. These guys just looked like a pair of goons.

Oh well. Now he had to make a plan.

He waited in a tree, watching the warehouse. Maybe he could wait until these guys got picked up by whoever and follow them? Or if they got contacted...

He went and searched the area for a vehicle but he didn't see one. So they'd been dropped off here and were waiting for pickup?

How to speed things along... Maybe if they had to contact someone for emergency pick up...

How to get them to contact Hydra for pickup without harming them... Maybe he could set the building on fire? But that might just draw firemen or police and he really didn't need that.

He could web one of them up, maybe and force him to call for pickup. But that would involve intimidating the guy and how was he going to do that without whoever was on the other end of the earpiece hearing about it? Also, Peter wasn't entirely sure Hydra goons would be intimidated by him. He was sort of known for not really hurting criminals, more just turning them over to police.

'Come on, stop fooling around and make a plan already!'

 

With a sigh, he headed back inside the building.

He crept along the ceiling of the second floor and waited until the man strolling along its halls let his guard down. Peter aimed and shot a line of webbing at the device in the man's ear, lifting it from him.

“What!” the man turned, reaching for his gun. Peter webbed his mouth, muffling his cries, then webbed his hand to his belt. When the guy tried to reach for his pistol with his other hand, Peter webbed that hand too. He tried to run and Peter tripped him up, then webbed his ankles together.

 

“No thanks,” he said quietly to the guy, eyeing the piece in his hand. Oh good, it had a button push-to-talk. He crouched down by the guy who was glaring at him and making muffled cries for help.

“All right, listen up. I need you to do me a favor. You contact your guys to come pick you up and I won't hand you and your partner over to the police? Sound like a fair deal? Sounds fair to me!”

The man eyed him quietly for a moment. Then he nodded.

“I don't know,” Peter said, tossing the device up and down in his hand. “I mean... you might just be agreeing to help me. How can I be sure?” He rubbed at his chin through his mask dramatically as if thinking.

The man lifted his chin insistently. Peter snorted. He slipped out the special razor he used to cut webbing on his shooter and sliced the webbing over the guy's mouth open.

He let out a breath.

“HAIL HYDRA!” he shouted. Peter cursed and webbed his mouth shut. Shit. Well the other guy probably knew he was here now!

The man was laughing behind the webbing and Peter leapt up to the ceiling, tucking the device into his own ear to listen.

“Just heard something,” a man was saying. “Shit, I think he's here.”

“You think he's here?” someone else – a man – sounded very annoyed. “You'd better figure it out.”

“On my way upstairs... Hey Watkins?”

Peter hid in another room down the hallway. He heard the man approaching up the rickety stairs and then the guy was walking down the hall. The man briefly glanced into the room he was in then hurried on. Peter followed along the ceiling.

“Watkins? Where are you?”

'Why are they all so dumb and so loud?' Peter thought. It was just like a horror movie. Why did they always go 'HEY SO AND SO' when they heard somebody scream and head in the direction of the person who screamed? 'Who even does that?'

He fired a stream of webbing just as the other guy reached the room with 'Watkins' in it and cursed. Peter snagged the man's ankles, webbing them together. Then he webbed the guys hands to his own belt like he had the first agent.

“Shit! He's here! He's got me-” he was shouting until Peter webbed his mouth shut too.

“All right, can it already,” he said, snatching the device from the other guy. He smashed it then pressed the button on the one already in his ear.

“Hi there! Friendly neighborhood Spider Man here.”

“Well well,” the man on the other end of the line scoffed. “Never thought I'd get to meet Spider Man. It's a real pleasure, Mr Parker.”

His gut twisted at hearing the guy say his name. Peter crouched on the wall, watching the two goons struggling.

“Pleasure's all mine. But oh no, it looks like your idiot goons are on the floor now. Hm, what should we do? I was thinking you could send somebody to negotiate-”

“Not a chance,” the man laughed. “Hydra doesn't negotiate. Now you can turn yourself in to those men-”

“Not a chance.” Peter said.

“Then I'm afraid we have nothing to talk about.”

Peter clenched his teeth.

“Aw, come on,” he said lightly. “What was that I've heard about Hydra not taking prisoners?”

The man huffed.

“We don't. That's why you turn yourself in.”

“That makes zero sense. I mean, I see what you're saying, like I'd be _voluntarily_ turning myself in and all but it's-”

“Look, kid. I've got your girlfriend here. Now I can break her fingers one by one and let you listen to her scream-”

“Don't-”

“Osborn's made it clear he doesn't give a single shit what happens to her. He just wants a Spider Man. So if it doesn't matter to him, I guess it doesn't really matter to Hydra. You want to talk to her? Hold on a sec.” He hears shifting. “Bring me the girl.”

Peter fingers scraped against the wall he was crouching against. Shit.

“Wait,” he said finally.

“Hm?” the man responded. “I mean I would _hate_ to break her fingers. She's a pretty girl and you know girls don't get over shit like that easy, right? I mean her hands might heal but,” he chuckled. “She'll be pretty fucked up and she's already fucked up because of you, isn't she kid?”

Peter's lips parted and he felt his face heat.

'You fucking asshole,' he thought. Except that it was true, horribly true.

The guy was laughing again.

“Oh hey, here she is right now. Hey sweetheart, you wanna talk to your boyfriend?” Peter tensed and he heard – oh God, he could hear Gwen and she was fucking _pissed_ , cursing the guy out and it sounded like she was struggling. He almost wanted to shout for her to stop fighting and at the same time he wanted to cheer her on.

“Here we go. Say hi to your boyfriend, honey.”

“Peter?” she sounded out of breath. “Ngh, let _go of me!_ Peter, is that you?”

“Gwen,” he couldn't help his voice breaking. “Gwen... it's okay. It's gonna be okay.”

He could hear laughter.

“Aw, you're breaking my heart.” He could hear Gwen in the background again.

“Wait- wait! Let me talk to him!”

“Unfortunately I don't have time to listen to this shit. So here it is, Peter. You turn yourself in or I end this call and you never hear from Gwen again.”

He tried to breathe, tried to focus.

'They're lying,' he thought. 'They're full of shit. They'll just try to find some other way of getting your attention. They'll probably just set up another place for you to turn yourself in. Or they'll come after you. They won't kill her-'

'No, they won't set up another place. They won't do that if you blow this one. And they won't _hesitate_ to kill Gwen. They're Hydra.'

He fucked up, he fucked up, damn it, why hadn't he just waited and watched these two assholes? Shit!

A scream ripped through the device and Peter froze.

“Gwen!” he shouted. “You son of a bitch _what did you do?”_

He could hear her cursing and crying in the background.

“Aww, I know. I didn't wanna do that. But you're wasting my time.”

“Peter no! Peter don't do this!”

“Gwen!”

Gwen was muffled again and he wondered if she was still in the same room. His throat and chest were tight and he felt like he was going to pass out. He forced himself to breathe. He could hear his own breaths, heavy, and another sound. Chuckling.

“Oh my god,” the man said. “This is _so_ dramatic. I feel like... I feel like some kind of movie villain, you know?”

Peter clenched his teeth and swore he'd find out who this asshole was.

“I turn myself in what happens to her?” he demanded. “How do I know you won't hurt her anymore?”

“You turn yourself in, Gwen and all of her pretty little fingers get dropped off. I guess we should probably dump her at a hospital seeing as you broke one of her fingers.”

He fought the urge to argue. 'I didn't break her fingers, _you did_.'

“I mean it's pretty mild compared to the fact that you _killed her father_ -”

“Stop!” he said. “I'm... I'll turn myself in.”

“Aw. That's so nice,” he could tell the man was smiling. “See? I knew you'd do the right thing. That's what guys like you do, Parker. You do the right thing. No sense in some girl like Gwen being involved in this, right? Right! So now she's gonna go home and you get to be the hero. So here's what you're gonna do. Are you listening, Parker?”

“I'm listening.”

“You're gonna cut that web loose. Then you're gonna hand this device back to my friend Morris. Morris is gonna tell me if you're being good. If anything goes wrong – any Avengers show up, any cops, anything – well, I can't guarantee Gwen's safety. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Now give me back to Morris.”

Peter hated himself as he moved down from the wall and cut the webbing on Morris's mouth open. But he put the device back in the man's ear.

Morris shouted at first, but then his voice grew quiet. He looked surprised as Peter started to cut him loose. As soon as his hands were free, he yanked the pistol from his belt and pointed it directly at Peter who held up his hands.

“Cut him loose.” He gestured to Watkins. Peter slowly, begrudgingly obeyed.

'This is so stupid, so stupid.'

He would play along. It was the only choice now.

 

* * *

 

“And I'll rescue a Spidey,” Deadpool was singing to the tune of 'Wish I Was in Dixie' as they flew to the coordinates. “Today! Today! And I'll rescue a Spidey and we'll have a few burritos. Today today, we'll have a few burritos!”

“Can we please just drop him off somewhere?” Stark asked, looking hopefully at everyone else. Steve was tempted to agree but he was more concerned about Peter at the moment.

“Actually do you guys have a rope ladder or a line I could slide down on? I like to make a dramatic entrance,” Deadpool nodded. “Strobe lights help too.”

Natasha was closing her eyes slowly and then giving Steve a look. He raised an eyebrow at her. He had a feeling her look meant something like 'Aren't you proud of me for not kicking him out of this quinjet right here and now?'

The quinjet was cloaked as it slowed to land behind a warehouse nearby.

“Here we go,” Barton was saying from the cockpit. “Looks like we've got a vehicle approaching the building. Van.”

“That's no good,” Natasha said. “Can we get the tags?”

“Nope. Not from this angle.”

Steve stepped forward to peer over his shoulder along with Natasha.

“What's our move, Cap?”

“We need to observe first. Peter may have already met with them. We can follow this van.”

“What is this, _Scooby Doo?_ ” Deadpool cried. “Let me at 'em!”

“Hold on,” Steve murmured, frowning, as the van pulled up beside one of the warehouse exits. Two men got out and as they watched, two more exited, carrying something between them. A body.

“Shit, it's Peter,” Tony was watching the quinjet's camera feed from inside his helmet. “Think they dosed him?”

“It's possible,” Bruce said. He was sitting down, strapped into one of the seats along the wall in case he was needed.

“Why are we waiting?” Natasha was watching Steve closely. He glanced to her, then back to the screen.

“If we follow this van, we'll be may be able to find Ms Stacy. If we interfere now...”

Natasha nodded in agreement.

“Tony, as soon as the van leaves, I'm going to ask you to check the warehouse for anything else. We'll pursue.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

They followed the van – dull and tan colored, it had signs of rust and made Steve really wonder what kind of resources Hydra had these days – as it headed back toward the city.

“Pfft, Marvel budget van,” Deadpool mused. “I bet it belongs to the set manager.”

Natasha gave Wade a raised eyebrow, then glanced to Steve as if to say 'What planet is this man from?' Steve just shook his head, keeping his eyes on the surveillance.

After about an hour the van reached a building in Hell's Kitchen.

“Really?” Deadpool sounded almost amused. “I live here! I mean... I know someone who lives here!”

“Everybody knows where you live.” Barton called. “No one cares.”

“Yeah, well... Just don't show up without calling first!”

“Why would any of us... Nevermind,” Barton said as the quinjet hovered over the alleyway the van had backed up into. It was hard to see down into it but the van was being unloaded by more men. Steve felt a rush. They would be able to take out at least a dozen Hydra agents and who knows how many more...

He noticed Natasha watching him closely again.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, genuinely curious. He trusted her instincts.

“Whatever this is... they wanted Parker alive.”

He nodded.

“How Osborn plays into it... I'm not so sure.” She frowned. “It doesn't make sense. He must be... doing something in exchange for their assistance.”

“Gross,” Deadpool said. “He must really be desperate these days.”

Steve made a face at the crude comment but shook his head. He wasn't sure how to ask Natasha what he was really thinking. Did they want to wipe Peter? Like they had Bucky? Would they try to make him into an enslaved super soldier? What did Osborn gain to benefit from this, other than eliminating an old enemy?

There was the matter of what they'd found at that... atrium. The hormones. Osborn had been planning something disturbing, that much was sure.

“I want you to go in,” he told her. “See what we're dealing with. We need to take this slowly.”

“Roger that,” she said then smirked. “Rogers.”

“Very funny,” he raised an eyebrow. He didn't mention that it was something the Commandos used to do.

“Oooh I wanna go too!” Deadpool leapt up from the seat he'd been lounging in and impatiently tapping his foot.

“Hell no,” Natasha said flatly. “This is recon. You're too loud and annoying.”

“Damn it!” he flopped back down into his seat.

She nodded and then Barton was lowering the quinjet on to a neighboring building, still cloaked. Natasha slipped out onto the roof and as Steve watched, slipped down nimbly over the wall.

A few minutes later she spoke.

“I'm in.”

“What are we looking at?” Steve asked.

“Heavily guarded. Repeat: This place is crawling – kevlar, automatic weapons. I'm having a hard time finding anywhere to lie low. There's an elevator on the first floor – I think it leads to a sublevel. Hold on...”

He waited for a few terse minutes. Then Tony came in.

“Hey guys! I'm on my way back to the city. Nothing in that warehouse. No sublevels. What's going on in my least favorite part of Manhattan?”

“Natasha's found a sublevel to the building we tracked them to. She's trying to see what she can find.”

“Nice.”

“I can't get into the sublevel without anyone noticing. There's surveillance everywhere. I'm going to check the upper floors,” Natasha murmured.

“Copy that,” Steve responded. He took a deep breath. He hated waiting like this. It was the hardest part of any mission in his opinion, but he'd learned to do it somewhat gracefully. He looked at JARVIS's scans of the building. He could see heat signatures moving around on the upper floors as well as two levels of subbasement. He could count at least twenty signatures.

“Ew,” Tony was saying. “I can see the building. Doesn't look like any of its up to code.”

“That's totally what we're worried about right now,” Barton said wryly.

“Well you know, fire hazards. Safety first!”

“I found Stacy.” Natasha said and Steve let out a breath.

“Great. How is she?”

“Not sure. I've found the room they're holding her in. They just mentioned taking her somewhere. They've taken Peter's to the basement... oh shit.”

“What? What is it?” Steve sat up. He could hear shouts in the background.

“Looks like Peter's causing them some trouble.”

“Good,” he said. “You secure Ms Stacy, we'll move in.”

“Copy that.”

 

* * *

 

Barton shot at the security cameras on the roof of the building, taking them out while Tony, having arrived just in the nick of time, dropped Steve off on top on the roof. He immediately ducked from gunfire and fell behind some exhaust pipes, taking cover. Using his shield, he took out the shooter while Tony took went to guard the street.

“Summoning the autobots!” he called over the communicator. “Autobots Assemble!”

His 'peacekeeper' decoys would be arriving shortly and would hopefully keep some of the agents busy.

“I'm pretty sure autobots are copyrighted,” Clint said tersely as he fired another arrow, taking out a guard. That made nineteen to go – not including whatever guards Natasha had already neutralized.

“Hey hey, we got a runner!” Tony announced cheerfully. “Vehicle! SUV. Uh uh, I don't think so!”

Steve could hear repulsor fire and the squeal of tires. Then Tony was cackling.

“Pull over, son!”

“One left on the roof, Cap. Over behind that water tower.”

“Natasha?” Steve carefully moved over the roof, around behind the door to the building. “You copy?”

“Bit busy,” she grunted and he could hear someone let out a yelp in the background. There was a crashing noise. “Where is that clown?”

“On my way!” Deadpool crowed cheerfully, yanking the door to the building open and drawing the last guard out from behind the tower. Steve threw his shield before the man could fire and knocked him out cold. He went to pick up his shield.

“Go on!” he called. “I'm behind you!”

“You know,” Wade said cheerfully over comms as he began to fight with a guard he encountered on the stairs, the sound of his katanas slicing followed by gunfire and yells. “You should really invest in something besides a frisbee!”

“We keep trying to tell him that,” Stark said from the street. “He doesn't listen. And I did not just agree with you.”

“Ahh, but you did!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! Sorry for the cliffhanger. I'm evil, I know.


	19. Rumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool and the Avengers have agitated a nest of Hydra agents. As they try to mitigate the swarm, Peter struggles to get back on his feet and find Gwen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly told first through Peter's point of view, then it focuses around Steve's perspective.   
> I'm actually enjoying writing about Gwen. She's a pretty interesting character; smart, brave, I like to imagine her as being tough and kind of a bad ass. She has her moments.   
> Don't worry, this fic is decidedly Peter/Wade. I may have to write another fic about Gwen sometime. *sings* Spider Gwen, Spider Gwen...

Peter's head was throbbing from whatever they'd given him, he was bleeding in half a dozen places, and he was _pissed_. Interesting how this tranquilizer did _nothing_ to dampen his anger.

He'd woken up on a metal table just in time to kick the guy who was strapping him into some weird torture chair in the face. Fortunately, there'd been no sign of Osborn yet.

He fired webs left, right, and sideways, snatching agents off the ground with a webline just to kick them in the face. No more Mr Nice Spider Man.

He was going to find that asshole responsible for breaking Gwen's finger and-

“SPIDEY! Yooo!”

He paused in the middle of punching a guard repeatedly in the face to glare over his shoulder.

“Ohh... shit,” Deadpool came to a halt but not before firing directly into an agent's face. “You uh... you don't look so great.”

“No shit!” he shouted and threw the guard he was punching aside. The guy let out a legit Wilhelm scream but Peter wasn't in the mood to joke. “Help me find Gwen!”

“She's safe! She's upstairs. Come on, let's get out of the bad touch basement.”

He followed Deadpool through the sub basement, ignoring his own limp. One of the guards had gotten his ankle with a kick. He still hadn't seen Osborn and his heart was ringing in his ears.

“I'm okay,” Peter said, shaking his head when the merc reached toward him. “Just take me to Gwen.”

They climbed into the only elevator going up. The doors slid closed and Peter slipped up the wall with a grunt to hide on the ceiling. Deadpool just stood right in the middle of it and hummed, tapping his foot. His katanas were already sluiced with blood. Peter sighed.

“I know, this thing is taking forever! For a bunch of high tech terrorist slash mad scientists, you'd think-”

“Deadpool,” Peter mumbled. “Can we not?”

“Oh by the way, Avenger dudes, I found Spidey! We're on our way up!”

“You brought them here?” Peter growled between clenched teeth. _“What did I tell you?”_

“Hey, without them I wouldn't have found this place. Maybe. Possibly. Actually that plot point is pretty debatable-”

“Where is Gwen??”

“She's fine, jeez! Romanoff has...her,” his voice went flat. The elevator slowed to a stop as they reached the first floor. “Okay. Maybe she doesn't...”

“ _Damn it_ , Wade!” Peter's anxiety spiked as the doors slid open. Deadpool raced out.

“Yippie ki-yay motherfuckers!”

Bullets were fired and some ricocheted off the elevator walls. Peter growled in irritation and crawled closer to the doors. There were already bodies on the floor of the main entry hall the elevator led to, presumably from when the merc first got down to the basement elevator.

Peter stuck the doors open then fired webs into the room, sticking an agent in place before snatching his gun from his hands. Peter automatically discharged the clip then tossed it aside. He webbed another guy over and punched him while Deadpool fought with a third.

Peter left the agent stuck to the wall of the elevator before slipping out and following Deadpool's trail of destruction.

He looked up to see Natasha Romanoff slip into the room.

Wade froze, gun pointed at her. His other gun fired into the shoulder of the man about to shoot Peter. Peter yanked the man's weapon away before webbing him to the wall.

“You didn't have to shoot him,” Peter snapped at Wade. Now the man was going to need emergency care.

“Peter,” Natasha spoke. He looked to her and her eyes gave him a stern look but he didn't care.

“Where's Gwen?”

“Upstairs. She with Cap and Barton.”

Peter let out a breath of relief.

“Have you seen Osborn?” she approached him, eyeing his injuries. Peter shook his head.

“He's not here. Which makes-”

“HolyfuckGETDOWN!” Deadpool yelled just as both he and Natasha knocked Peter to the floor. Everything became heat and noise as the ground rocked beneath them.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Peter a few moments to make sense of what happened. That was after he first became aware of his ears ringing and the aches of his body slowly filtering back in.

Someone shot a rocket – a fucking _rocket-propelled grenade_  – into the main lobby of the building where they were.

“Fuck!” Deadpool was kicking against rubble and coughing when Peter could hear again. The merc had one hand on his shoulder and hauled him up to his feet. Peter swayed and groaned.

_'Where am I?'_

A car accident. Glass everywhere. Osborn. An abandoned looking warehouse. Laughter over a phone and screaming.

_Gwen._

Natasha was coughing too and shaking dust from her body.

“Well... they have RPG's,” she grumbled. Then she looked at Peter and Wade. She reached up to touch her ear. "Alive. We're alive." She was silent as she stood and looked over Peter.

"Are you hurt?"

"Uh... yeah. I hurt everywhere," Peter said, still sort of dazed. Wade snorted. Natasha touched her ear again.

“Stark's on it. Come on. Let's get out of here.”

“No! Gwen is still upstairs!” Peter said. Natasha sighed heavily.

“They're heading... shit.” She turned and began to move swiftly back to the door she'd come from. She stopped to look at Deadpool. “Get him out of here.”

“No! Not without Gwen!” Peter webbed at the merc when the man tried to reach for him. “You're not supposed to be here!” Peter fumed. “Neither of you are! I told you, Osborn isn't stupid!”

“Peter,” the Widow sighed, then shook her head. “Fine, follow me.”

She hurried them into the hallway off the main lobby they'd just stepped out of.

“Yeah, can you yell at us later?” Wade glanced behind them, then turned forward to face a very irritated Spider Man directly in his face.

“Traitor,” Peter told him, shoving him in the center of the chest with a finger.

“Wha-! Hey, I'm trying to help you!”

“Peter, don't be mad at him,” Natasha said. “Come on.”

They began to move again, Peter growling.

“Thank you!” Wade added.

“He did the right thing coming to me. Besides, we're here now.”

“I'm not leaving without Gwen.”

“Fine. Let us help y-”

Shots were fired from down the hall. Natasha swore.

“Really? I'm pretty sure that's against fire codes, guys!” Wade whirled, pulling out his katanas. He began to hurry toward the attackers in a crouch. Natasha shoved Peter out of the way, down the adjoining hall.

The sound of their attacker's shouting reached their ears, followed by more shots, then a whirl of blades.

A scream followed.

“Uh, that wasn't me screaming!” Deadpool called. Then, “That's my gun now, Mister! Bah, nevermind. My guns are better!”

“Wilson, move it!” Natasha called.

She headed down the hall and Peter followed. Deadpool trailed along behind them, katanas still out and now dripping.

“You know, if I'm gonna be around, we should really have like Wilson 1 and Wilson 2. You know. 'Cause Falcon.”

“You're not going to be -” Natasha was cut off as a guard stepped out in front of them, assault rifle at the ready. She whipped out her own pistols, falling to her knees as she aimed.

She fired as Peter sprayed a web in front of them, hoping to stop their attacker.

Deadpool ran ahead, cheering.

“Ayiyiyi chimichangaaa!”

“Ugh!” Peter said, slipping into an empty office. “I'm going up the outside wall!”

“We are not splitting up,” Natasha fired again, taking out the guard's knee while Deadpool's blade sliced his throat. The man fell, gurgling. Peter shuddered at the sounds and the spray of blood.

“Shit,” she swore as another set of guards appeared further down and began to run in their direction. “We've got more company!” she shouted, moving to hide herself in the doorway of the office. “Where are they coming from?”

Wade rushed to greet them but Peter moved around Natasha and shot more webs, hoping to trip them. He slipped back into the hall as Natasha called out in protest.

“Peter, no!”

“You'd think I'd never fought a pair of goons with guns before- yikes!” He threw himself up to the ceiling and hurried along it after a bullet narrowly missed his shoulder. Peter shot webs down at the two guards while Wade blocked the hallway with his body, a whirl of blades.

“Cowabunga, dudes!”

Deadpool kicked one of the men in the center of the chest, knocking him onto his back a few feet down the hall, then sliced into the side of the other's neck. The guard fell with another spray of bullets. Wade finished him off by plunging one of his swords into the man's chest. Peter found himself distracted by the swift in-and-out motion. He'd never really watched Deadpool work before and if he wasn't disgusted by the blood and careless waste of life, he'd have to admit the man had good form.

“Like whatcha see, Spidey?” Wade waggled his eyebrows.

“Watch out, idiot!” Peter pointed at the man standing up behind him and shot a web over his shoulder. The guard was wrapped up in it.

“Hahaha! That's right, biatch! I got Spidey on my side!” Wade kicked him.

“Take his weapons,” Peter sighed, dropping to the floor. “I need to find Gwen!”

“Peter, wait!” Nasha was giving a huff of irritation as she tried to wriggle through the spaces in Peter's webs which had ended up strung across the hallway. “Little help here, Wilson.”

“Oh now you need my help!” the mercenary crowed and sliced at the corners of the web to bring it down. Natasha gave him a disgusted look when it stuck to her suit. “Heh. Sorry!”

He turned and began to run after Peter.

“Wait!” she hissed and moved after the two of them. Her boot got stuck on a strand of web and she nearly stumbled. Rolling her eyes, she whirled, pulling out one of her own knives to cut at it. She looked up at the sound of a shout.

“Halt!”

“Nope,” she said, slicing herself free then throwing the knife. To her surprise, the man caught it, smirking at her.

“Well well..” he said. “They told me you might show up.”

“Rumlow,” she said. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah I do. But I've got a little something you don't have, sweetheart.” He began to move down the hall toward her with a smirk, pulling out a pistol. She leapt up and bounced off a wall to kick him. He blocked the kick and aimed one of his own, kicking her down the hallway.

Deadpool and Peter both stared as she landed hard with a groan. Rumlow laughed and kept approaching.

“Where's Cap, by the way? He upstairs with the girl?”

“Crossbones?” Deadpool crowed as he whipped out a pistol and fired. “ _You_ don't belong in this fanfiction!”

Whatever armor Rumlow was wearing, the shots bounced off. Natasha had slipped into a crouch and raced forward, falling into a slide and taking out one of Rumlow's legs. He fell heavily and the two of them tangled.

“Peter go!” she shouted.

He stood, conflicted for a moment. Then he looked up and saw other guards heading down the hall, from the direction Rumlow came in. Where the hell were they all coming from?

Deadpool was already firing over the struggling Rumlow and Natasha, taking out one, then two guards.

They were all heavily armored with kevlar and Peter...

He cursed and fired webs at Rumlow, but to his surprise the man ripped his arm easily away from the wall one of them had secured it to, in time to block one of Natasha's strikes.

“He's unusually strong,” she noted, probably for the comms.

Peter kept firing webs. He could already feel his shooters running low. With a growl, he ran toward Rumlow and kicked the man in the head.

Rumlow was simultaneously struck by Natasha in the face with a fist and fell.

“Good kick!” she told Peter and shoved herself up before running down the hall to join Deadpool. “Cap? Upstairs clear?” she turned to Peter. “Go! Go up to the roof! Stacy's already on the quinjet!”

Peter nodded and ran into the open office. He shoved the window open then slipped outside.

He noticed the van from earlier a few yards away. He was in an alleyway. He began to slip up the side of the building.

Something hit his ankle and his body went stiff with pain. His teeth clenched as current raced through him.

“Nnn!”

He scrambled, grasping at the wall before falling. He reached at the air frantically as he fell and struck the concrete a few moments later.

Peter's body thrashed a few more times. He was back in the atrium, the colors around him blurring together.

“Oh no,” someone was saying, standing over him. “I hoped it wouldn't turn out like this but it looks like we're going to have to move to the backup location.”

He managed to lift his head and he saw a man standing over him. The voice was familiar.

The man grinned.

“Hi.” he said, raising a gun. “I'm Jack.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Holy shit!” Stark was shouting into his comm. “Romanoff! Romanoff!”

Natasha's line was crackling.

“Oh God, Peter!” Gwen Stacy's eyes were huge in her flushed face.

“Natasha?” Steve smacked a guard in the face, kocking him over.

“It's like an anthill. Where the hell are they coming from?” Barton kicked an agent back in the chest, then shot him in the knee with a pistol. They were cornered in an office with Ms Stacy. The office had two doors, each leading to the hallway. 

“Stark, anything on the roof?” Steve called.

“Uh... no!” Tony sounded like he was gritting his teeth and Steve could hear repulsor fire. “Little busy taking out the nutjob who brought a rocket launcher to the party!”

“Natasha?” Steve tried again. He heard coughing and a groan.

“Alive,” she grunted a moment later. "We're alive." 

“She's alive,” he told Barton who nodded.

“Course she is,” he said, whirling and kicking another agent in the face. He was guarding the door that led to the hallway in the center of the building. Steve was guarding the other door, the one that led closer to the roof exit.

“Still cloaked,” Bruce announced from the quinjet. “Still not the Hulk.”

“Asshole with RPG is down,” Tony announced. Steve bit back the urge to chide him for his language. He knocked out a third agent with a shield strike to the head.

“I really would like to know where these men are coming from,” he said. He was starting to get out of breath and while he had plenty of energy left, he wasn't sure the others were going to keep up so well. They could really use Sam's eyes in the air but Sam was busy in DC. He had a life too.

Gwen was keeping busy with a pistol she'd snatched off one of the guards. Apparently she was trying to figure out how to get the safety off.

“Ms Stacy, please don't do that,” Steve told her. She looked up in surprise. Her face was flushed and he noticed when she moved her right hand she winced. Her pinky finger was swollen.

“Let's get up to the roof,” Clint said when it didn't look like any more agents were coming. “I can come back and find the others.”

“I'm on it,” Tony said. “What floor are you guys on? You know what, it doesn't matter. I'll find you.”

“They're heading... shit,” Natasha was saying. Then “Get him out of here!”

Good. She was probably talking about Peter.

“Let's go, Ms Stacy. Do you need help walking?” Steve asked.

“Oh. Uh, no I'm fine,” she smiled sheepishly then pushed herself up with her healthy hand, still holding on to the pistol with her other. She grunted and thanked Clint when he took her shoulder and helped her stand.

“Peter,” Natasha was sighing. Then “Fine, follow me.”

“Yeah, can you yell at us later?” Deadpool said. Peter was _not happy_ , Steve took it. Tough. They were here and they weren't just going to let him handle this by himself! Thank God they hadn't either.

Steve stepped out into the hallway, checking where it intersected with the other hall the office's other door had been facing, where Barton had been watching.

“We're clear. Come on.”

Natasha was apparently trying to talk sense into Peter and Steve clenched his teeth in irritation. That boy was in for a lecture once they got out of this!

He headed up the stairs to the roof first, followed by Gwen Stacy and then Clint who kept one pistol out and one hand reaching to steady Ms Stacy. Her legs were fine, fortunately. The only thing damaged on her was her finger. Her face was red on one side too as if someone had slapped her.

“Up we go. This way,” Steve led Gwen up the narrow stairs to the roof, taking her free hand gently. He could hear shots on Natasha's end and his teeth clenched once more. It was followed by cheering and howling on Deadpool's end.

The roof was blessedly clear. Steve told Gwen to wait in the doorway with Barton before he headed out, shield raised. He looked up to see the quinjet hovering ten feet above. A rope ladder was lowered.

“Here Ms Stacy,” he gestured and Gwen came out, followed closely by Barton. “You can take her up right? I'm going to find the others.”

Clint gave him a look with narrow eyes that said 'Really?' but then nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he saluted casually then turned to Gwen. “Here, drop that gun. Think you can put your arms around my neck. Here... piggy back ride.”

Steve waited until they disappeared into the quinjet, and the ramp raised before he headed back into the building.

 

He'd just reached the top floor – fourth – when he heard it.

“Rumlow,” Natasha said and he froze. “You look like shit.”

He could hear the man responding, hear his voice. His blood boiled and he began to race along the hallway. He smacked a random, wandering guard in the face with his shield and knocked him over with a snarl.

Rumlow was here.

'Keep your head about you. Stay calm.' Steve couldn't stop his blood from racing though. That... that bastard!

He could hear shouting and shots being fired. Natasha and Rumlow were fighting. She let out a cry and he nearly froze again.

“Natasha?” he called, knocking another guard in the face, then knocking him out with a punch. A second appeared and Steve kicked him in the chest, sending him into a wall. The man slid to the floor with a groan and a wet cough. He wasn't going to be getting up any time soon.

“Peter, go!” Natasha was shouting.

“Shit,” Steve reached the stairwell and hurried down. He fortunately didn't hear any boots coming up. Maybe they'd finally depleted Hydra's supply of ready reinforcements.

“He's unusually strong.” She said a few moments later.

Steve reached the second floor and leapt down a few more stairs to the first. The door to the second floor opened and he heard boots. He turned to wait and a moment later two men in kevlar appeared. They drew their weapons but his shield was already flying, striking the first in the chest and knocking them both backward. Their shots ricocheted. By the time they were struggling up, Steve was upon them.

“I guess they're coming,” he grunted as he fought them along with the others trailing behind them. “From the second floor!”

“Nice kick!” Natasha said as Steve charged forward like a bull, knocking several guards back onto the second floor. They flew backward into the hallway they'd entered the stairwell from with cries of pain and bewilderment. Steve looked up to see ten more waiting, their eyes growing wide as they saw him standing over their fallen fellows.

“Cap? Upstairs clear?”

“Not the second floor!” Steve moved, throwing his shield while kicking one of the fallen ones attempting to stand back down. “Barton and Ms Stacy are out!”

The man he'd just kicked let out a yelp and curled up, grabbing his injured shoulder. His shield struck two men knocking them into eachother and bounced off the wall back towad him. He grabbed it.

“Whoo popo is on their way,” Tony said. “Mind if I join the party down here, folks?”

“More than welcome!” Deadpool cheered.

Steve fought through the remainder of the guards, neutralizing them. He panted for a moment, standing in the hallway and looking down around his feet.

“Anybody... call the National Guard?” he joked.

“I'm assuming they're on their way,” Natasha said tersely. It sounded like she was fighting. He turned to head for the stairwell again. Out of the corner of his eye, further down the hall, he saw a man step out from an office. An agent. He raised his gun at Steve, his teeth clenched.

He raised his shield, but not before a bullet struck his hip. He cursed and threw the shield. The man was struck directly in the face, a nasty crack resounding as the man's nose was broken. Blood sprayed as he fell and the shield landed with a clang not far behind him. The man's second shot missed Steve entirely as the captain limped toward him down the hallway.

“Damn it,” he swore. He could walk, but for how long? He kicked the gun away from the idiot on the floor who was grabbing at his nose and crying out.

“Hail... Hydra!” the man had the gall to say. Steve rolled his eyes and picked up his shield.

“Dumbass,” he said.

“Language, Cap!” Tony responded. Steve decided not to inform him that his hip had been shot. He could only take so many jokes.

“How's the situation downstairs?” he grunted as he hurried back down the hall. The man with the broken nose was trying to stand up. Steve rolled his eyes and stopped to turn and throw his shield again, knocking the man's feet out from underneath him. He managed to catch himself with a hand before his face hit the floor.

“Not half bad!” Tony said. “Widow and Burrito Man were held down but it looks like we've taken care of most of them. This Runlo guy has some crazy sophisticated armor. Parker up there?”

Steve retrieved his shield and kicked the man against the wall this time.

“I haven't seen him yet,” he said.

The man bounced off the wall and groaned, cursing Steve and now nursing both his ribs and his nose.

“Should have stayed down,” Steve said as he tried to jog toward the stairwell and winced. Fine, he'd settle for a fast walk. He reached the stairwell, then slipped into it, stepping over Hydra agents to head down to the first floor. He grunted.

“You okay, Cap?”

“Fine...” he said. “Where's Peter?”

“He's supposed to be up on the roof. You see him up there yet, Bruce?”

“No...” Barton answered after a moment. “Bruce is splinting Ms Stacy's finger. It's broken. Turns out one of those assholes broke it. Hey Tasha, kick Rumlow for me?”

“Sure,” she said and Steve could hear something connecting with something else heavy. Good. Rumlow was down and being kicked. The day _could_ get better.

He frowned as he entered the first floor. He paused, frowning, as he heard something.

Steve began to hobble faster into a nearby, empty room – an office at some point. The window was closed and there were blinds in the way. He yanked the blinds away and tossed them aside, then peered out...

Just in time to see the same van from earlier pulling away. He stared after it, stared at the tag and memorized it.

With a grunt, he turned to head back to the hallway. Romanoff had found him and she was giving him a narrowed gaze.

“Stark's watching Rumlow. You want me to kick him for you too?” she eyed his hip. “Shit...”

“I'm fine. Where's Peter?” He grunted, shuffling but allowing her to help him over to a desk to rest on.

“He went... upstairs...” she froze, then turned and headed back out of the office.

“Hey,” he called. Then he sighed. He could hear police sirens approaching. “Great.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Gwen, trying to shoot people! Action Gwen is fun to write. 
> 
> Hip jokes that Tony could make: "Aren't your hips always bothering you at your age, Spangles?" 
> 
> Bum bum buuum! Peter got taken again. Derp.   
> Now the evil transformation begins. *maniacal laughter and lightning strikes*


	20. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers work to find Peter and Deadpool decides it's time to go on a solo mission to find Spider Man. Gwen Stacy steps up, determined to help recover Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have an update! :) I'm unemployed and it's summer lol. So lucky you guys! 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Description of torture and brainwashing at the end.

Gwen Stacy was taken to Avenger's tower where her finger was probably set and splinted. She was also checked for other injuries and given a bag of ice for her face.

“I'm really fine,” she insisted. It was Peter she was worried about, once again.

She'd texted her mom and brothers who were on their way to the Tower. They were being brought to the tower in a Stark limo.

There were press hanging around outside with questions about what the media was now calling the Battle of Hell's Kitchen. She would have rolled her eyes at the title but honestly, it really was a battle.

Gwen had seen danger before, but the danger she'd seen involved a mad scientist turned giant lizard trying to kill people. Not... terrorists in kevlar.

She tried not to think about Jack Rollins or Norman Osborn. Her back was bruised where Osborn had thrown her against a wall but she wouldn't be mentioning that to her mom or her brother.

She smiled at them when they entered the emdical unit and embraced her tearily. Her heart twinged for Peter's aunt who gave her a small smile from the doorway.

Peter was gone. There was a chance he was still in the building but Natasha Romanoff had insisted he'd been fine after the blast, or at least talking and able to fight.

“He shouldn't have been fighting at all!” May Parker had shouted. She'd started crying and Gwen had watched as Agent Romanoff looked on uncomfortably. May Parker had allowed the Captain to comfort her.

Now the woman had just been spending the past few hours nursing a cup of coffee on a chair and looking exhausted.

Sometimes Gwen really wanted to kick Peter's butt. His aunt's hair should not be that gray.

But it was unfair and she knew it. It wasn't Peter's fault. It was hers for not recognizing Norman Osborn. Why had she been working for Oscorp anyway? She should have known the company was shady. She should have...

Gwen sighed. It was times liket his that made her wish she had superpowers. If only so she could find Peter and make sure he hadn't gotten himself hurt.

It hurt especially that she'd almost gotten to see him again and...

'Please be okay,' she thought. 'Please, please be okay.'

She wondered if she should try praying. Gwen didn't really pray that much which was probably something she should take up more, she thought, if she was going to be dating Spider Man.

But she wasn't dating Spider Man. She was dating Peter. And he wasn't just some hero in a mask. He was a boy who could be hurt.

“I don't want you anywhere near this Parker boy anymore,” her mother said, disturbing her from her thoughts.

“Mom!” both Gwen and her brother Howard gave her a reproachful look. Simon, who was the youngest, just looked between all of them with a worried expression.

“I don't care how cold it sounds! He's the one always getting you – getting us into situations like this.”

“Mom that isn't fair,” Gwen said. But she didn't have the energy to put the vehemence she felt into it. “I can't believe you'd say that. It's not Peter's fault.”

“He's dangerous. And he's gotten you into a dangerous situation. You could have been murdered.”

They fell into silence. Howard put an arm around her, rubbing her back and giving their mother a look. It was something they didn't really talk about – her dad's death. Simon took his mom's hand and she pet his hair distractedly, pulling him closer.

Fortunately Mr Stark appeared at that moment to invite Gwen and her family to stay but her mother insisted on them leaving.

“I want her at home,” Helen Stacy said.

“She may not be safe at home just yet,” Steve Rogers spoke up, stepping up behind Stark who'd started to look uncomfortable. “The police have offered to keep an eye on the house-”

“That's more than enough,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “I want her home. Away from all this.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Gwen said tiredly. “Im staying here mom.”

Her mother turned to give her a furious look.

“Why? What can you do here? Except wait around for him?”

It hurt. Gwen just gave her a look that said she was disappointed in her.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Fine. Don't. Stay here and make me worry about you.”

“You're always welcome to worry about her right here!” Tony Stark smiled and the Captain elbowed him. Howard snorted and even Simon was fighting a smile. Gwen noticed him eyeing Captain America curiously from around their mom.

Helen Stacy glared at Stark who shrugged and grimaced.

The Captain managed to calm her mom down – something about his demeanor and earnest expression – and somehow even managed to convince her mom that they were safest spending the night in the Tower. The boys were super stoked, of course, as Gwen knew they would be, even if they were really good at hiding it. Somehow the Captain came up with a small plastic shield that he signed and gave to Simon who grinned. Howard, of course, had loads of questions for Tony Stark about his suits and the billionaire entertained the two boys by giving them a tour of one of his labs.

Gwen appreciated what they were doing for her family. She knew it was really hard on her mom...

She blinked, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. Peter was out there and there was still no sign of him.

Stark's AI was doing everything it could to locate him, along with the police, firefighters, and volunteers who were cleaning out the building. The National Guard and the FBI had already taken the agents that were still alive into custody and they were being questioned. With nothing for her to do, Gwen just felt so useless.

Well, she wouldn't just sit there. She was going to help them find Peter, take a page out of Peter's own book.

She winced at that. Peter had a tendency to rush off and get himself -

No. Peter hadn't deserved anything that was done to him. All he'd been trying to do was stop Osborn and Harry... She clenched her teeth and her fist.

She was going to find out what was going on. She was going to get some answers. She looked at the captain who seemed to sense her eyes on him and he looked up to greet her gaze. He blinked, frowning, at her expression. She lifted her chin.

“What is it, Miss Stacy?”

Her brothers were too busy quizzing Tony Stark on everything to notice while her mom was talking to Peter's aunt, May. As the captain drew closer, she looked at him.

“I want to know what's going on.

The captain blinked, his lips working.

“I want to know the whole story. From the beginning.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clint and Wade were still sitting in the 'command' room of the tower or as Tony liked to call it 'the bridge.' (Probably a Star Trek reference; Steve thought). Bruce had gone to meditate, possibly, or help Tony sort through the coded files they'd managed to scrounge from the building. Most of the hard drives were shot or destroyed when the Avengers invaded the building, but Natasha was working on decoding information. She was sitting at the table, looking at a laptop and frowning. Every few moments she would type something – adding her own notes on the code in a seperate document.

Steve sighed as he eyed the suit surveillance again. They could see the van leaving – and a street camera picked up Jack Rollins entering the passenger's side before it left. It had taken facial recognition software to analyze the image and identify him.

The van was parked on the side of the building Peter had exited so it was the only explanation that made sense for Peter's disappearance.

“This is such bullshit,” Wade said.

Steve glanced at him. The merc was slouched in a wheeled chair, rotating himself with the toe of a boot. Clint rolled his eyes.

“No shit. Anything helpful to add?”

“Oh come on. You can't tell me it isn't-”

“Of course it's bothering me, Wilson! But what do you suggest we do?”

Wade just looked at him, an eyebrow raised. Steve always wondered how the man's mask managed to show his emotions so well.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “But... shit. You know what?” he stood up. “I'm going to Hell's Kitchen.”

“Sit down,” Natasha said.

“Why?”

“You're not going to do anything,” she looked at him. “Except make yourself _noticed._ ”

Clint was frowning, glancing between the two of them.

“Why? Do you have contacts or something?”

“I'm a merc. Of _course_ I have contacts.”

“Let us determine first, then, if those contacts will be any use before you go blowing it,” Natasha glared at Wade who scowled and let out an aggravated sigh before rolling himself around in his chair.

“So,” Deadpool said. “Where did we lose Spidey this time?”

“This isn't funny,” Natasha said lowly a few moments later.

“Uh, I didn't think it was either. I just think it's becoming a pattern. Seriously, how do we lose the _Spider kid?_ ”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“I don't have the patience for this idiot,” she told Steve, then picked up her laptop and headed to the elevator. “If you have any information, I'll be washing brains out of my hair.”

“All right,” Steve nodded. A shower might do him some good too.

“I always use Dove,” Wade called. “Gentle on the scalp.”

“You bathe?” Clint joked, but Steve could tell his heart wasn't in it.

“Hey, I'm just like any other guy!”

“Sure. Way to piss Nat off, by the way.”

Wade shrugged. “I'm more use out there-”

“Then go,” Steve said. “Just try not to draw attention to yourself.”

Clint laughed. “Better not let him leave. He'll just piss Nat off more.”

“What connections do you have?” Steve tilted his head curiously with a sigh. They had been going over security footage for hours. They still hadn't managed to locate the van.

“Unless the fucking thing has cloaking technology,” Tony swore earlier while peering at street surveillance and his own in-suit cameras, internal and external. “Then it's vanished. I'm starting to think Thor's shitty brother is in on this.”

“Tony,” Steve had sighed but hadn't really had the energy to tell him to mind his language. It wasn't the battle so much as everyone's sense of gloom that was making him feel old. And Tony might have made a joke about that if he wasn't tugging his own hair out. “Please don't mention Loki.”

The man was currently in his lab, working on repairs to his armor and probably blasting music. Steve just wished he could think of a solution.

Thor still hadn't returned which Steve took to mean that something had come up in Assgard. Wonderful. Not that he might be able to help either. But who knew? Asgardians had all sorts of bizarre magic.

Steve himself was supposed to be getting bed rest but insisted on hobbling around with the aide of a crutch. Tony was too busy to make jokes about that, which was a sign to Steve about just how bad things really were.

He watched the mercenary as he actually seemed to be deep in thought, staring at the floor, a frown on his mask. Clint looked surprised.

“I know a guy. Weasel. Owns a bar.” He looked up at Steve, eyes narrowing and pointed. “But _you_ can't go over there being all Avengery and fucking shit up.”

Steve gave him a look, then glanced to Clint who snorted and started to chuckle.

“I know what bar he's talking about. St Mary's Orphanage right?”

“St Mary's is a bar now?” Steve looked affronted.

“It's the old building,” Clint explained. “I've been there before. It's the basement. They use it as a bar. Mercs meet there,” he looked at Wade. “The orphanage itself doesn't really exist anymore, due to the foster system. The authorities know about the bar but... it's almost impossible to prove anything really goes down there that the owner _knows_ about so they can't shut it down.”

“Weas is always in some legal battle or another,” Wade shrugged. “But he's got a new lawyer. Murdock. Who by the way is secretly _Daredevil,_ ” he stage whispered and smirked at Clint.

“He is not.”

“Is too.”

“The guy is blind, how can he be Daredevil?”

Wade threw his head back and groaned, loud and frustrated.

“You're shitting me right?” he threw up his hands.

“Anyway,” Steve held up a hand. “Continue about the bar?”

 

* * *

 

 

Gwen listened at the door to what Steve had informed her was 'command central' for the Avengers. She'd just finally been dismissed from the medical unit and JARVIS had taken her straight up to the correct floor on the captain's admittance. The AI even gave her directions to the room.

It made her sad, thinking about how excited Peter must have been the first time he interacted with Stark's AI. Gwen would normally love to quiz JARVIS – he seemed incredibly intelligent and even had some kind of personality of his own – but right now she had her mind on one thing, getting Peter back home safe.

She was still trying to process the disturbing news the Captain had gently shared with her about Peter's first kidnapping – what the Avengers had discovered about what Osborn was doing to Peter. She still had the feeling there were details the captain hadn't wanted to share with her, because of her age or simply because he didn't want to upset her. It didn't matter. Gwen was already upset and worried about him.

It hurt even more that because of Osborn she didn't get to even hug Peter after he'd been rescued. She'd already been taken by Osborn when Peter escaped.

Not to mention the guy clearly had connections to Hydra and from what Gwen knew about Hydra, they were no joke. Especially thanks to her most recent, harrowing experience.

She waited, listening, the door cracked as the mercenary known as Deadpool spoke.

“Well as Hawkeye here was saying, Weas keeps his nose out of people's business, so the feds can't really bust him just for having a bar that may have a certain... clientele.”

“They don't really want to waste resources raiding the place continually either,” Clint Barton added.

“Hey! I'm tellin' the story!”

“Go on,” the captain sounded like he was trying to be patient and Gwen had to fight a small smile.

“So yeah. Unless they have a guy they're lookin' for, they don't really bust up Weas's place much.”

“Who is Weas?”

“Weasel. Owner of the bar.”

“Nickname or...”

“His name is actually Jack Hammer,” Deadpool snorted.

“Jack Hammer...” Steve frowned. “Is he related to Justin Hammer?”

“Oh God, I hope not,” Clint made a face.

“No!” Deadpool was laughing. “Haa, no. He probably wishes he had that much money. But Weas is handy with gadgets. I've gone to him for repairs before on things. He's a useful guy but he doesn't really hire himself out like I do. Not a merc. Just happens his bar attracts a lot of mercs. Also, we kick anybody's ass if they start trouble with him. Symbiotic relationship.”

Gwen was fascinated. She'd never really known anything about mercenaries or things like that before. She learned a little about the underworld from her own research and Peter's findings, but he tended to keep her out of the loop on most things. She slid down by the wall in the hallway and sat, listening.

“Indeed,” Barton added. “Nat and I have gone there before, fishing intel.”

“Ah,” the captain said. “Makes sense. So you think someone in this bar might know something?”

Deadpool made a negative noise.

“Not somebody in the bar. Weas hears stuff, even if he likes to pretend he isn't listening. It can be dangerous. He's been through some shit. Some people are not nice when they catch you eavesdropping so he's learned to keep to himself. But sometimes I can get contacts that way or info. I figure one of these assholes bought that van or came around looking for muscle, Weas might hear about it?”

“You think Hydra agents go there?”

“Eh,” Deadpool said. “it's possible. They don't advertise though.”

“Of course not,” Barton said. “People would stay away if they actually knew who they were working for. So they say when you catch up with 'em anyway.”

“So how will you know if you find anything?”

“Eh... Won't know right away until the trail leads me somewhere. That's the life of a merc, though. Sometimes you're just digging through shit until you find something that leads to a job.”

“Are you thinking of finding work with Hydra?” Steve actually sounded intrigued.

“Are you thinking of sending him in?” Barton sounded incredulous.

“If we do it right...” The captain was silent for a few moments and Gwen could picture him thinking.

“Nat'll blow a fuse.”

“We won't do anything without her advice,” Steve Rogers said. “I trust you two when it comes to things like this. But for now, Wilson could go in and see what his friend knows. If he's heard anything. But don't act on anything you hear. Come back to us, first.”

“Sure thing, Cap!” Gwen heard the sound of a chair sliding back and she leapt up to her feet, wincing and biting back a curse when she pushed herself up with her broken hand. She shook it out listening.

“Aw yes, I got my orders!”

“You sure this is a good idea?” Barton suonded skeptical.

“Hey Barton? Fuck you!” Deadpool said cheerfully. “I got it, Caps! No worries! You won't hear shit about me! I'll bring you back anything I fnd.”

“Thank you, Deadpool.”

“I can't believe you just said that.”

“Well information is information,” the captain said, sounding a little helpless. Gwen felt for him but she was too busy pretending to just be lost and ambling along when Deadpool stepped out.

For a moment she just stared at him and swallowed.

“Whoo whoo, Spidey's shawty is here!” he called into the room, then waggled his eyebrows at her. “Whatcha doin' dandelion?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just got out of medical.”

The captain appeared in the doorway as Deadpool moved down the hall, hanging out a moment apparently.

“Miss Stacy. I'm glad you could join us,” he held the door open in invitation.

“Wait. Really?” Barton said from inside the room. Gwen smiled at the captain.

“You can really just call me Gwen.”

“Only if you'll call me Steve.”

“Okay,” she smiled. Then glanced at Deadpool curiously. She'd heard of the guy before, from Peter – kind of a nutjob and dangerous. He'd always advised her to stay far away from him. But the captain apparently trusted him for information.

“Thank you,” she told him, surprising everyone. “For um... for helping find Peter.”

Deadpool's head jerked back slightly. “Uh... you're welcome! Thank you!” he pointed at her lazily. “Um... I'll be on my way now!” He began to walk down the hall with a jaunty step, toward the elevator, katanas strapped to his back. “Don't worry Shawty! We'll find your man!”

“Thanks,” she chuckled and let the captain gesture her into the room.

 

Barton was giving Steve Rogers a curious look as she stepped in.

“I told Miss Stacy I'd keep her updated on what we find. She might be able to help us.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, blinking and looking surprised. Gwen took a seat at the table at Steve's urging.

“We're digging through a lot of code we found on Hydra's hard drives – at least Natasha and Tony Stark are. There's no guarantee, but we may be able to find where they're keeping him.”

Keeping him. Peter was a captive again. Gwen rubbed at her temple with her good hand.

“So how do you think you can help us?” Barton asked, his tone neutral. She looked at him and the captain as he sat down. Behind her was a screen with what looked like surveillance on it.

“I have some familiarity with chemicals,” she said. “I know you have Dr Banner, but I know who the main manufacturers are. If you give me some information about what chemicals Osborn was using, I might be able to help.”

Steve and Clint Barton shared a look. She didn't like it.

“What is it?”

The captain looked at her, frowning. Gwen's stomach dropped. He glanced at Barton again who shrugged and threw a hand up.

“Might as well let her in all the way if we're gonna let her in half.”

“We have reason to believe Osborn was trying to alter Peter's chemical makeup, as I told you. What I didn't want to tell you is that Osborn was using something called blockers for testosterone and... estrogen.”

There was silence in the room. Clint swore under his breath.

She looked at the two of them, glancing between them. Steve was giving her a sympathetic look.

“He's... he's trying to change Peter... into a girl?”

It didn't make any sense. Why would Osborn...?

She gagged, then covered her mouth with a hand.

“Want me to get...” Barton started to get up and Steve held up a hand and shook his head. He looked to Gwen who was also shaking her head and offered her a hand. She took it.

“He wants to make Peter into a girl. But... why?” she looked at Steve.

The captain shrugged and shook his head, glancing between her and Barton again. Barton gave him an incredulous look and shrugged. She could tell that Barton didn't agree with what he was doing, but her mind was already trying to form a hypothesis.

She didn't like it.

“We don't know,” he admitted. “But we appreciate any help you could give us.”

“Can I see what chemicals they were?”

Steve looked up at the ceiling. “JARVIS?”

“Sir?”

“Could you bring up the list of chemicals we found in Osborn's lab?”

They all turned to look at the screen except the captain who was already facing it. Gwen stood and walked over to look at the listed chemicals. There were names and dates too – when the items had bene purchased and where. She stood, reading the list for a while and thinking.

“It does look like he's trying to... transition Peter.”

 

* * *

 

The boy was strapped down to the chair and struggling. Little man, really. His mask and attire had been removed, leaving him in his underwear.

She crossed her arms and sighed as she watched through the glass window, pushing her bright red hair back over her shoulder. She had it tied back in a low ponytail.

She couldn't hear what the boy was shouting, but he did not look happy. She smirked. He'd already spat out the rubber guard they tried to give him. He'd probably end up regretting that soon. She watched, slightly nervous herself as the pieces of the machine fitted to his head. They'd had to strap his head down to the damn thing and he still struggled, even as the machine began it's work. His mouth opened in a silent scream.

She looked over to see Leona approaching her.

“My lady,” she looked impeccable in her skirt suit as she joined Erica by the window. Erica allowed her arm to slide around the other woman's waist and they exchanged a brief kiss on the cheek before pulling apart. They both stood silently watching, Erica rubbing her chin.

“I worry that the subject won't stand up under the treatment,” she admitted. Leona frowned, then shuddered.

“It's still rather primitive technology,” she admitted. “But the boy has a healing factor, like the asset.”

“Another thing that requires my attention, no doubt,” Erica looked at her. Leona smiled wryly, holding up the file in her hands and Erica took it. She opened the folder, glancing up every few moments to watch the boy before dedicating her full attention to the file.

“Another base gone. This one in northern Ukraine. All of our agents dead. Except one – a scientist.”

“Well he's dead now,” Erica mused, eyeing the documents.

“Of course. He betrayed us.”

“For a few minutes more of life?”

“Couple hours before they found him,” Leona mused. “But hew as injured. Couldn't run.”

“Good,” Erica was chewing on her fingernails again. Leona tutted and took her hand away from her lips, then gave her a look when she gave the other woman a mock glare. “I wish you'd let me polish those.”

“I'll just chew on them some more.”

“What's going on?” a man's voice demanded. Erica fought the urge to roll her eyes as Leona relinquished her hand and the two women turned to look at the man in the hallway.

Norman Osborn never looked happy but he certainly didn't look pleased now.

“Mr Osborn. You've met Director Holstein.”

“Director,” he sneered as he approached. “Why isn't...” he stopped and looked in the window. He turned toward it, eyes focusing, and Leona stepped aside to let him look.

Erica stood quietly, closing the folder and holding it behind her back, both hands clasped. She waited silently, but she was mostly watching Osborn. The man was obsessed with having his spider kid. It was disturbing to some extent and really rather pathetic. She and Leona shared a look and then Erica was watching Osborn again.

“Why wasn't I notified?” he demanded quietly. The 'dangerous' sort of tone men used when they were used to people hurrying to do their bidding. Erica kept her expression blank.

“You were notified. It took you a while to get here.”

“But you started without me,” he glared at her. “I expressly said that I wanted to be here when it started.”

She turned her gaze to the room where the boy had gone limp. His eyes were staring off and his chest was rising and falling rapidly.

“What's going on?”

“He's between treatments. He's going to be out of it when we're finished, as I'm sure you were informed,” Erica glanced to Leona who nodded, then looked back at Osborn. The tech in the room was talking to Parker. The boy's head shook slightly, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, eyes glazed. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

Osborn was silent, watching Peter and rubbing his jaw. He looked sweaty and slightly unkempt. There were circles under his eyes. He frowned deeply as a man in a white coat approached the boy.

“What's he doing?”

“Testing responsiveness.”

“I want to go in.”

“It's not advised.”

“Why not?” he looked at her.

“It could interfere with his programming.”

“What programming?”

“You were told, I'm sure that the chair destroys synaptic connections to memory. But to gain the level of obedience you desire, there also has to be instructional guidance.”

“Like?”

She smiled. Then she pressed a button and spoke into a speaker by the window.

“Doctor, if you would? Dr. Osborn would like to ask you some questions.”

The tech in the room turned around to look toward the window, frowning. Another man walked by, his coat open, a beard on his face. He stepped through the door and gave them all a curious glance, particularly Erica. She smiled at him and stepped up by Osborn.

“Dr. Harris, this is Dr Osborn. He wants to know what kind of programming we'll be using to train the subject.”

Harris nodded. “Of course,” he offered his hand to shake Osborn's but Osborn was glaring at him.

“What is this programming she keeps mentioning?”

“It's just a base programming similar to what we used on the asset. Simple instructions on compliance. Why don't you come with me to my office? We can talk further about it there.”

“I want to go in,” Osborn shook his head, pointing to the door.

Harris gave Erica a glance and she shrugged.

“Your party, doctor.”

“Come with me,” Harris said, opening the door to the lab. “But please don't disturb the subject.”

“I realize that,” Osborn snapped. As Erica watched, the man followed Harris into the lab and the door closed.

“What an asshole,” she said lightly to Leona who snorted. “All right. We need to get to work on this,” she held out the file. Leona took it, frowning.

“Do you want me to go?”

Erica nodded. “You're the only one I would trust with this.”

“Not Crossbones?” Leona sounded surprised.

Erica rolled her eyes.

“The idiot got himself caught. Anyway... he's no use against the asset. Doesn't have the skills you do, even if he now has the strength.”

Leona smiled. They exchanged a kiss and Erica gently grabbed her chin when they parted. Leona raised her eyebrows.

“Bring him back to me. Alive?”

Leona gave her a shocked look as Erica released her chin.

“As if I would do anything else,” she said with a small smirk. Then she turned and began to walk away. Erica watched her for a moment, then looked inside the lab again. Osborn had disappeared into some other room with Harris, no doubt.

The boy was moving slightly, struggling again, but he looked exhausted. Weakened by the 'treatments' no doubt.

Erica already had her mind on another target.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leona Hess is the Viper for those of you who aren't familiar with the comics universe, AKA Madame Hydra. Erica Holstein is Sister Sin or the Red Skull's daughter though I'm going to be departing from the comics universe in terms of details. I introduced them earlier in the story and here they are again!   
> And whee, Hydra lesbians. Cause why not? 
> 
> Also, Deadpool plays undercover investigator in the next chapter. I like the idea of Gwen being an active part of Spidey rescue too.


	21. On Eachother's Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter endures Hydra's brutal brainwashing techniques while Wade tries to get to the bottom of things at Weasel's bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been like two months since I updated. I just had a block with this one, I think.   
> Unfortunately I start classes again soon so updates will probably take a while, but I'll try to get some more of this fic completed over the next month before I'm bogged down by assignments. 
> 
> I had fun referencing some things from the Deadpool movie, which if you haven't seen it, is pretty funny. Obviously Wade's in movie girlfriend Vanessa will not be making an appearance, neither will the comic book Vanessa a.k.a Copycat. But I did bring in Weasel and his bar.

“What is your name?”

“Peter... fucking Parker,” he snapped. The shocks went through his body again and his teeth clenched. The thing on his head looked like it belonged in an optometrist's office except more creepy and it delivered painful shocks to Peter's brain. So far that was all he could tell from the situation. The scientists seemed to catch on that he could understand what they were saying so they moved into another room when they noticed him watching them with a glare.

As it was, he was too tired to even glare anymore or struggle much. His arms and legs seemed to be held down with mag-cuffs. What disturbed him the most was the thought that this was very like the gear SHIELD had. But Hydra had hidden themselves in SHIELD. It only made sense that they'd taken some of the tech themselves.

Maybe they'd even developed some of it. Like this thing. 

He shuddered because he had a feeling he recognized this thing from somewhere but he couldn't really think straight at the moment.

There was a buzzing sound and a woman's voice. Peter was having a hard time making sense of the words. He licked his lips and realized they were cracked. A line of saliva tickled the side of his mouth and he tried to wipe it off on his shoulder but he couldn't move his head. His whole head felt like it was buzzing and his stomach was twisting in pain from the shocks. His whole body felt stiff but like it was tingling at the same time.

He felt a flash of fear then a flood of relief as the hum of the machine pressing against his temples died down and with a whirr and a whine the prongs pressing against his temples retracted and the whole thing raised and lifted to the side, away from him. He exhaled heavily but reminded himself it wasn't over yet.

'Don't get too comfortable,' he thought.

A moment later the 'doctor' as he'd introduced himself went to one of the doors and Peter could hear him talking. Then he heard a familiar voice that made him sneer.

“Fuck you Osborn,” he growled when he saw the man entering the room.

Osborn looked almost smug as his eyes lit on Peter. Peter didn't think he'd ever hated anyone so much in his whole life.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, jerking at the cuffs.

“I've explained to you, Mr Parker,” the doctor said in his not unkind voice. Peter hated the gentle tone the man was using, like he was being unreasonable for feeling pissed off at being strapped down to a table and shocked. “We're recalibrating your mind.”

“Recalibrating,” Peter laughed. “You mean brainwashing me?” He kept blinking and his eyes hurt and felt heavy at the same time. He jerked again in his bonds. Even if he knew he couldn't escape, he couldn't help moving. His Spidey senses were firing off like crazy and he was just trapped, unable to move.

“Stop this,” he glared at Osborn. “What do you want from me?”

“We're past that, Peter,” Norman Osborn said, his eyes cold as he moved to stand at Peter's left. Peter jerked in his bonds again, gasping. It was hard to breathe for some reason, maybe because of the panic gripping him. If he could just shut off the stupid alarm in the back of his mind.

He tried to breathe and focus but the room seemed to be vibrating. He closed his eyes tightly as he breathed, then opened his eyes when he realized Osborn and the doctor were talking again.

“It will work better if you aren't present yet,” the doctor explained.

“Why?”

“He isn't ready for the next level of conditioning yet. That's when you'll be present.”

Peter's stomach twisted. Conditioning. What was the next level? Was that.. Was that where they tried to bond him to Osborn?

He jerked in his bonds again, glaring at the doctor.

“How can you do this and call yourself a doctor?” he sneered.

The doctor merely looked at him as if looking at a tv set that had a boring game show on it, then glanced to his equipment and back to Osborn.

“Very well,” Norman groused. “But I'd like to observe.”

“Of course! You can definitely observe... from in here if you like,” the doctor opened the other door and led Osborn through. Peter tried to lift his head to look but he couldn't. They were talking again and he tried to listen but the door swung shut.

He swore and sagged back against the table. He was alone in the room which was even more of an insult. They didn't even think he needed a guard.

Still... that might work in his favor. If he could just...

He grunted as he tried to slip one of his sweaty wrists through the cuffs but they were too small. He glanced down and looked at his right wrist. Even if he broke his thumb, dislocated it, the cuff would still be too small to get his wrist out. He swore and rested his head back again, trying to breathe. There was something over his neck meant to keep his head down and the machine over his head had two prongs that seemed meant to keep his head in place.

He was starting to remember where he'd seen this machine before and he felt sick. There'd been some files leaked from the Triskelion that were... well they were beyond weird. They'd referred to a certain project simply titled 'asset maintenance.' People had come up with all kinds of dark theories on the internet but Peter had brushed most of it off as speculation.

Then again, maybe they'd been right.

'Okay don't freak out. Think.' He took another deep breath through his nose, his eyes closed, then exhaled.

The door opened to his right, where the doctor and Osborn had just been through, and the doctor reemerged. He said something to someone in the room, probably Osborn, then closed the door.

He looked at Peter and came to sit down in the same wheeled chair he'd been in earlier, at the table where he manned the machine. Peter felt his heart beating faster again.

“Please,” he said. “Please don't do this. Whatever you're about to do, please. Don't.”

The doctor looked at him with a frown.

“I understand this is very frightening for you Mr Parker.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, looking at the man again.

“Please, you don't understand. What this guy wants to do to me? It's twisted. It's sick. It's not going to benefit Hydra at all. Norman Osborn doesn't care about Hydra. Whatever he's told you-”

The doctor gave him a small smirk.

“Mr Parker, I don't think you understand the nature of the deal Hydra has with Mr Osborn. Either way, it's none of my business and I'm here to do a job.” He turned back to the machine. “I don't expect you to understand. Now if you would, please respond to these questions, just like before...”

Peter nodded. “Just like before? Fine,” he looked up at the ceiling, preparing himself. The machine began to hum again and the piece over head moved in place then lowered, the prongs pressing against his temples. Peter could feel the charge building up behind them and his eyes began to grow wet.

“What is your name?”

“Peter Parker,” he said.

The world rattled around him and he tried to bite back his scream but he couldn't. He fought the sob that threatened to emerge after the shocking stopped and gasped. His spidey senses weren't even firing anymore – body too tired to keep warning him. He pictured a spider crumpling up in a jar and shook his head.

“No. Not like that,” he murmured.

“What was that, Mr Parker?” the doctor asked. Peter shook his head.

“N-nothing.” he said while thinking 'Fuck you.'

'I'm going to get through this. I'm going to survive.'

He had to. For Aunt May and for Gwen. He didn't have a choice. He had to make it.

“How old are you Mr Parker?”

What were these questions about? Should he answer them? Did it matter if he did?

“I'm seventeen,” he said.

More shocks. He felt a sharper pain in his head this time, almost like a knife and he yelled.

As soon as the shocks stopped, his body flailed. It had been rigid while the shocks coursed through his head. He let out a series of grunts and felt something wet on his thighs, down his leg. He distantly felt embarrassment as he realized he'd wet himself.

“Where were you born, Mr Parker?”

He thought about Queens, about his Aunt May's house. He hadn't been born there though. Where was he born? A hospital? Which one..?

That was when he realized what the questions were for.

'The connections,' he thought. 'They're burning the connections.'

Every time he was asked a question, he would think of whatever they were asking about. Peter had heard about this kind of thing on the internet while looking at the leaked files but it was just one of those theories people exchanged on message boards. It hadn't seemed entirely possible and Peter had been skeptical of what he thought of as conspiracy theories of government brainwashing.

Hydra, apparently, had figured out the technology.

“The zoo,” he said and the doctor's hand paused over the dials and switches. He frowned and turned to look at Peter who let out a weak laugh. “I was born in the zoo. At the lion exhibit.” He pictured the lions. He'd been there once with Uncle Ben.

'No! Don't picture Uncle Ben. Or Aunt May. Don't picture anyone. Picture...'

The zoo. Lions. Bored lions panting on a summer day.

“Mr Parker, we have ways of getting you to cooperate,” the doctor said quietly, a look of mild amusement in his gaze.

“Oh yeah?” Peter huffed. “I don't know about that, doctor. Do you even really have a Phd? I bet you don't. I bet you're a fucking program washout. I bet you don't even have a _bachelors_.”

“What degrees I have or don't don't have any effect on whether or not we'll accomplish our goals, Peter.”

Somehow the guy using his first name was incredibly creepy.

“Now try to answer the questions as-”

“No,” he shook his head the little that he could. “I won't. I'm not going to give you the satis-”

The shocks started again and he yelled, biting his tongue. A coppery taste flooded his mouth as his body railed with tension. Then the shocks ceased and Peter once again sagged against the table.

The doctor wasn't paying any attention to him now. He'd stood and was looking over something on a computer screen. As Peter tried to blink his sight clear and watch, the doctor moved over to a table and began to pull on plastic gloves. Peter shuddered, trying to move again, hoping against hope to escape.

He saw a camera near the ceiling in a corner of the room and sneered. Fucking Osborn probably watching. The asshole. He had an immature desire to flip the camera off but it wouldn't make a difference.

He sagged, panting and trying to regain some sense of equilibrium, but his whole world was trembling. Even his vision seemed to have wavy lines like an old tv on a badly received station.

“Here we are.”

He jolted slightly when the man appeared at his side but then his arm was being held in place and a needle was pushed into his vein.

“No...” he said weakly, grunting at the pain. It was mild compared to the rest of his body, especially his head. “Stop. Don't do this...” He didn't know why he even bothered anymore.

“There now,” the doctor said. “That should help you be a little more cooperative.”

“What is it?” He might as well ask.

“Guess. I'm sure you can.”

Peter tried to think as the needle slipped back out of his vein and the doctor pressed something against the arm, gauze maybe. He glanced over, trying to see any remains of solution in the needle but the doctor had already turned away and was moving back to the tray on the table. Peter sighed, shaking his head.

“A benzodiazepine,” he guessed.

“Not bad,” the doctor said. “Similar but not quite.”

Then he did something really annoying and just took his gloves off, tossing them into a waste bin and didn't explain anything else. Asshole.

Peter watched as the man moved back to the table. He touched a switch and the machine over Peter's head shifted again, withdrawing. He felt a mild flood of relief but he knew it wasn't over. The doctor was just waiting for the drugs to kick in which shouldn't take long because Peter's body processed things pretty quickly. Not that Peter would ever tell him that. If he was lucky, the doctor was only guessing at how his system worked.

He closed his eyes and tried to get some rest. The door of the room opened and closed after a few moments and he sighed, knowing he was alone.

 

* * *

 

“Weeeas!” Wade entered the bar, finding it empty. “Huh!” It was midday though so a pretty slow time. “Weas! Psst!”

“What?” Weas came down the steps from the office. “Oh, it's you. Shit.”

“Hey!” Wade threw his arms up. “It's Movie Weas!”

“Movie what?” The man made a face. 

“You're not a ginger in the comics! Hahaha, it's great. Ginger Weas.”

“What the hell...” the bar owner shook his head as he moved down the steps. “Nevermind.”

He glanced over the merc curiously as he moved to the bar.

“So what'll it be at...” he glanced at his watch. “11:45 in the morning?”

“Hey, Alan Jackson, Jimmy Buffet! I'll have a screwdriver. I need to drink more juice, you know, get healthy.”

“Sure,” Weas shrugged and grabbed a glass, filling it with ice. “So what brings you around?”

“Not much,” he hopped onto a stool, eyeing the bar. “Wow. Just like my new movie! Where's Vanessa though? I guess she's not in this fic. Bummer!”

“Mm,” Weas just nodded like he was used to listening to crazy talk, which he was.

“Okay, enough fourth wall play. Wow, that sounds kinky. Thanks!” He added when the screwdriver slid across the bar and he snatched it up. He tugged up his mask and took a sip. “Mm, tasty. Ahh. Okay, Weas. What do you know about the folks in green?”

“What?”

“The people in purple.”

“Okay what the fuck are you talking about, Wilson?” Weas turned to open a fridge and snatched a beer from it, unscrewing the top. “I think I'm gonna have to drink for this conversation to make sense.”

“Wise idea. I mean okay they do purple and green – or is it purple and yellow?” He stopped and frowned. “Green and yellow?” His eyes lit up. “Green and yellow!” he snapped his fingers. “It's green and yellow in the comics. Don't know where I got purple from. But in this 'verse it's probably red and black, right?”

“Red and black...” Weasel made a face as he leaned against the back of the bar with his beer in hand, licking his lips. “You mean _Nazis?_ ” His face lit up. “Oh.” He lowered his voice. “ _Hydra?_ ”

“Are they listening in?” Wade stage whispered.

“Uh, no,” Weasel shook his head. “I mean, you never know. I do sweep for bugs but...” he shrugged again. “Look, they have their hands in a lot of pies as far as I know.”

“Sticky pies. Messy, nasty pies,” Wade took a sip of his drink. “Ahh. Wait, are we still talking about the same thing?”

“Beats me,” Weas burped then took another swig of beer. “Mmf. I haven't heard anything useful. Sorry.”

“Nothing? Not even a shred?”

Weas sighed. He eyed Wade for a few moments, chewing on his lower lip. Then he shrugged.

“I hear they have properties around town.”

Wade slid closer along the bar. “Myeees?”

“That's it. I don't know what properties they are. There was one of their people in here the other night. Asshole. I mean he looked like an asshole but so does everybody who comes here, right?” he huffed.

“Sure! And we all love you too, Weas.”

“Yeah. Anyway, he was sitting over there,” he pointed to the table in the corner. “You know. Classic villain seat.”

“Classic,” Wade nodded after a glance.

Weasel shook his head and took another sip of his beer. “He asked if I wanted to join an organization,” he snorted. “Like I didn't know what the fuck he was about. I mean everybody in here knew what he was the moment he stepped in.”

“Yeah?” Wade tilted his head.

“I mean it's not like they hide well in a place like this. If you know what to look for anyway.”

“And what would that be?”

“They stick out. He was obviously ex military going by his build, the way he moved, where he sat...”

“Whoa -ho-ho, slow down Sherlock.”

“Hey, I'm just saying. His face was kinda fucked up too.”

“Like,” Wade gestured to himself with a finger in a circle. “Moi?”

“Not that fucked up.” Weas winced. “Sorry.”

“No, no... honesty is what a strong marriage is based on, baby.” Weasel smirked. “But fucked up how?”

“No, like one of his eyes,” Weas gestured with a finger. “And his jaw. I don't know. Accident maybe. Dark hair.”

“Tall dark and handsome huh?”

“More like tall dark and fucking creepy. Kept staring at everyone. Twitchy too. I thought he was gonna pull out a gun, light the place up. Anyway. He was only here the other night but some people come and sit with him, talk to him for a while. Mostly guys. Anyway, I told him I wasn't into gangs and shit like that. He just laughed and told me 'this isn't a gang.'”

“Interesting,” Wade said. “This guy have a name?”

“Said if anybody came looking for 'Jack' to let him know.”

“Jack. That's it? Jack?”

He shrugged. “Yep. I asked for a last name and he just looked at me and then he fucking walked away. Weirdo.”

“Sounds like a total freak,” Wade said cheerfully and finished off his screwdriver. “What time did he show up?”

“Around...” Weas frowned, eyes staring off in thought. “Maybe two am? It was late – or early.”

“Be careful, Wilson,” Weas added. “These people are serious shit.”

“Yeah no duh. Funny, they're a bunch of douche bags in the comics.”

“Sure,” Weas said, then made a face. “I didn't know Hydra had comic books.”

“Mm,” Wade said. “Old Captain America ones. Those exist here, right?”

“You mean those USO ones from the forties?”

“Yes!” Wade pumped his fist. “Fucking finally! So something exists in this universe!”

Weasel was staring at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Doing great. Anyway, gotta go catch a Spiderman. No time for chats!” Wade tossed some dollars and change on the counter and scuttled away.

“Hey!” Weas called, counting the dollars and change. “What the fuck? This isn't even enough!”

“Aw, cmon it's fucking Smirnoff and SunnyD!”

“You owe me a fucking dollar, Wilson!” Weas shouted but he was scoffing.

“I probably owe you more actually,” Wade mumbled with a yawn as he slipped back outside.

 

“So his name was Jack...” Romanoff was searching through a database. They were back in Stark tower, sitting in the meeting room the Avenger's used.

“yeah. Weas said he was there a couple nights ago.”

“How long ago?”

Wade shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

“Would help if I had something more specific,” Romanoff shook her head and sighed. “Dark hair, he said?”

“Yeah, possibly ex military. Said his face was kind of fucked up.”

Romanoff paused and looked up at Wade.

“Fucked up how?”

“Crooked eye? Messed up-”

“Rollins?” She guessed as she typed. She then turned the laptop around to show Wade who leaned in and shrugged.

“I dunno,” he looked at the face. “I'd have to show it to Weas. I didn't see the guy.”

“We'll be looking for him at your friend's place,” Romanoff said.

“We?”

“I'll be there.”

“Sweet. Let's make it a date,” he winked.

“I won't be there with you,” she said. “I'll be in disguise.”

“Oh, right. SHIELD mask thing,” Wade gestured at his face.

“I won't need anything that sophisticated for this,” she smirked. “But we'll be on comms. One thirty am.” She took something out of her pocket and slid it across the table. It was one of the Avenger's earpieces.

“Sweet!” He snatched it up. “Secret Agent man,” he began to sing.

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to draw attention to yourself. Might help if you dress more casual.”

“Ah, everybody knows me at that bar.”

“Just try,” she gave him a look with a raised eyebrow. “I'll probably be waiting outside to tail him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he perked up.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced by Deadpool is of course "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere" which is by Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffet. Of course Deadpool doesn't really care about time of day when it comes to doing anything, but there you go. 
> 
> Pies are also a reference to 'It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia,' the episode called "The Gang Spies Like Us." For some reason I remembered Charlie talking about cream pies and misattributed it to the Deadpool movie. Oh well! I figure DP would probably watch 'It's Always Sunny' at some point anyway.


	22. Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter endures 'treatment' after 'treatment,' and struggles to hold on to his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I think you guys are horribly overdue an update on this thing. Once again, sorry for being so late on it, but I promise another one as soon as I can. I've been pulled away from this by classes and work, the usual... I hope you guys are enjoying fall! I'm so looking forward to Thanksgiving break, you have no idea lol.

Peter woke up with his head throbbing. His body was sticky with sweat and - great, naked still. It made him shudder.

At least he was alone in the lab. He struggled weakly against the bonds, blinking as his eyes adjusted. The lab wasn't fully lit – kind of dim actually. It was like everyone had shut down for the night and just left him here.

'Assholes,' he thought. He tried to squirm again and couldn't. His whole body felt sore, but it was mostly in his head, neck, and back. A throb in the center of his brain caused him to wince.

The door opened and he grew tense as he saw Osborn enter.

'Oh not this shit again...'

He licked his dry lips as Osborn eyed him and approached. The older man held a styrofoam cup of something in his hand. As he came to stand by Peter's prone body, his eyes traveled up the young man's form, eyeing him in a cold, clinical way. Peter's stomach turned.

“What do you want?” he croaked. He coughed, to clear his throat.

“Water?” Norman held out the cup. Peter remembered the fountain in the atrium. Norman Osborn's hands on his body in the shower. He turned his head away, feeling sick.

“Come on, you must be thirsty.”

Peter looked up at him, glaring. Then he eyed the cup.

“Fine,” he said.

Osborn held it to his lips and Peter forced himself to drink.

At one point he swallowed too fast and coughed. Osborn held the cup back, dabbed at his mouth with something. It felt like an actual cloth handkerchief. It smelled like Osborn.

Peter jerked his face away.

“Leave me alone,” he said, weakly. He had to stop himself from saying 'please.'

“You know, I tried the nice approach. But you didn't play nice. So now it's this, Peter.”

“Go away,” he continued looking over at the wall.

“Fine. Let me know when you'd like to get off that chair.”

Peter just stared at the wall, mind racing through his memories to make sure they were all there.

When he realized it hurt to think, tears surfaced. He blinked against them, relieved when he heard the door close and he was alone again. 

 

* * *

 

Peter was moved from the chair but not before the good 'doctor' pressed a needle to his arm. Peter tried to remember if the guy had ever told him his name. He wore glasses and was a rotund man with a beard and messy dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“This will help you stay calm,” was all the doctor said.

Peter swallowed, resisting the urge to lash out. He didn't want to be calm.

But surely enough he felt the drug working through his system. Two men unstrapped him and hauled him out of the chair. His legs nearly slipped out beneath him and he bit back a groan at his headache.

He was half dragged, half carried to a room – more like a cell – with a cot. Peter's stomach twisted as he was left on the cot, still naked. He felt grimy, disgusting. He lie there, on his stomach, cheek against the cot until the door slammed shut.

Peter pushed himself up on his hands, then scooted closer to the wall, turning so his back was against it. He wrapped his arms around his knees. He wanted the light in the cell to go off. It all seemed too bright and glaring.

The drugs were making the room tilt and he closed his eyes, fighting another groan as he rested his forehead on his knees.

This was all his fault.

Cause he'd tried to play hero and... Damn it, he couldn't even think straight! Already the day's memories seemed to be fading – the goons in the warehouse, the battle in Hell's Kitchen, Natasha and Deadpool, the rocket-bomb. Was it even the same day? Peter didn't know and had no way of telling.

That fucking bastard waiting for him in the alley. Peter didn't know who he was, but that dick face was going down as soon as Spidey caught up with him.

He thought of the man's taunting voice on the phone. Gwen's scream. The snap of a finger – a bone breaking.

Had he even been able to hear it? Or was he just now imagining it?

He wanted to throw up but he realized there was nothing in his stomach to puke. When had he last eaten?

How long had he even been here? How many times had they shocked him? How many questions had they asked? Peter couldn't even remember them all. He felt like they were perfectly innocuous – or had seemed so at first – but he knew they weren't because... Because...

He grit his teeth holding back a while, pressing his forehead to his knees. He wanted Gwen's fingers carding through his hair, stroking his neck.

Peter was left alone for a while. He tried to count the minutes but he couldn't seem to hold the number in his head. He was exhausted.

He allowed himself to drift off, leaning into the corner of the cell that the cot was in. He tried not to wonder how many other people had been in this cell, or what became of them. 

 

* * *

 

When he was awoken by the door of his cell opening, he was offered food on a styrofoam tray and water in a cup. No plastic utensils. The food was a sandwich and some sliced apples. He dryly wondered if you could choke yourself on an apple slice. As quick as the thought came, he pushed it away. No need for such dark thoughts. Peter wasn't serious about that anyway.

He'd just been joking.

'Calm down,' he told himself.

Oddly enough his mind felt clearer. The room wasn't swaying slightly anymore and there were no bright spots vision. He ate some of the apple slices after tasting them suspiciously. The water was a relief on his dry, sore throat. Why sore?

Had he screamed when they... when they shocked him?

He couldn't remember.

He shuddered. It was like being a mental patient, in every movie he'd ever seen.

He ended up devouring the grilled cheese sandwich, which was actually delicious. Almost like it was made with butter. He searched it for pills, tasting it tentatively. His throat felt marginally better after he washed it down with more water.

Peter looked up to see a small glass rectangle of a window. When he tried to climb up the wall, wincing at the strain of his weakened muscles, he could see that the glass was incredibly thick. He could see mowed grass and the trunks of trees. Pines.

Maybe he was in upstate New York?

He heard his door open again and slid down the wall, into a crouch, but leaning against it for support. The guard was young – dressed almost like a SWAT team member. Peter noted the uniform and the weapons on him as the guy eyed him. The door had immediately closed behind him.

He looked young. Late twenties, maybe. He smirked at the sight of Peter.

“Hey Spider boy. Mind if I take that tray?”

Peter shrugged and made a gesture with his hand as if to say 'Welcome to my humble abode.'

'Sense of humor: check,' he thought. Maybe he could get out of this hell hole after all.

He stayed hunched near the wall as the guard stepped in and grabbed the tray. He noted the guard's uniform – plain black fatigues and boots, vest, belt. He saw with disappointment that the guard didn't carry anything more than a baton and mace. Peter was not realistically getting out of here with a baton.

He was too weak to take any of the guards now, but he might...

He sighed. Maybe he should just hold on and let the Avenger's find him. They'd found him once, they could surely find him now.

The guard stopped to smirk at him from the doorway and shake his head. Peter sneered at him.

“What?” he snapped.

The guard looked him up and down and chuckled, shaking his head, then left.

“Asshole,” he muttered. Wow, his breath smelled really bad too.

There was a toilet and a sink in the bathroom at least. Peter weakly made his way over and relieved himself. He tried to clean up the best he could with the sink but there wasn't even soap. Nice.

He sat on the cot some more, back against the wall, hands resting on his knees. He was trying to close his eyes again, maybe rest when the door opened.

Great. Osborn again. Wow, this guy really did not know when to give up, did he?

He buried his irritation at being in the same position he'd been just a week or so ago. At least Gwen was safe now. He swallowed, hoping it was so. The Avengers should have been able to get her out of there. It was his own stupid fault he got caught.

He blinked, seeing bright spots in his vision as he looked up suddenly. Osborn was watching him quietly.

“How are you feeling?”

Peter shrugged a shoulder. “Hm, let's see... my girlfriend was attacked – by psychopaths and one of them _broke her finger._ Oh and then I woke up in a basement where some creeps were trying to strap me to one of those chairs and shock my brains out. Then some _genius_ shot a rocket into the room I was in, which, by the way, nearly killed me. Oh and _you keep kidnapping me_. Does that sound like a good time to you?”

Norman shook his head. “Always so sassy. Don't you ever get tired of fighting, Peter?”

“Yeah, I do actually. I get sick and tired of looking at your sick, twisted face.” He couldn't resist spitting at Osborn. It didn't land on the scientist, instead it landed on the floor near his shoes. He wished he had his web slingers so he could web the guy in the face, maybe shut his stupid mouth for once.

“Twisted? You know what's really twisted, Peter? All you've done is endanger everyone you care about.”

Peter's teeth clenched.

“Excuse me?” he managed to grit out.

“You could easily have worked with me. But instead, you chose to endanger Gwen Stacy. You always endanger her, you know. You're no good for her and she's no good for you.”

Peter gripped the cot beneath him with rage.

“How fucking dare you,” he said quietly. If only he had enough energy to get up and punch Osborn in the face. He ignored the twinge in his chest, the voice in the back of his mind that whispered 'But he's right.'

“Not to mention how you responded to me in the shower,” Osborn said smugly. Ugh.

Peter shook his head in disbelief.

“Wow. You are so delusional.”

“You did,” Osborn stepped forward. “You enjoyed it, Peter.”

Wow, now he really wanted to throw up. Except that he was too busy shaking with anger at the absolute bullshit he was hearing to do so.

“Believe whatever you want. You're insane. It doesn't matter anyway,” Peter pulled his knees closer to his own body and turned his face away, wrapping his arms around them.

“Come on. It isn't that bad. Just a few more treatments and you'll be feeling much better, Peter.”

Peter didn't answer him.

Osborn finally left after asking him if he'd like something to wear. The truth was Peter really would like something to wear but he sure as hell wasn't going to ask Osborn for it. He should never have talked to the man to begin with. It wasn't a good idea to talk to a kidnapper, was it? He couldn't remember.

He tried to picture Uncle Ben. What he would do in this situation. What he might say. Well, he'd probably be deeply worried about Peter for one thing.

His gut twisted as he thought of Aunt May. He'd put her through all of this. And Gwen.

He blinked as his eyes grew hot. Stupid Osborn. Damn him for opening his mouth on anything that he didn't know about.

His head was starting to ache again, so Peter curled up on his side and tried to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

He didn't know how much time passed before he was prodded again. It was one of the guards, poking him with a baton. Peter scrambled up and further into the corner, glaring.

Behind the guard was another, similarly dressed and the damn doctor again.

The doctor held out something. Peter realized it was a pair of plain, gray sweatpants.

Oh.

He really did want that pair of sweatpants. Especially with those two jerks, one of whom was smirking at him.

He slowly sat up and moved to stand. The guard in front of him stepped back but kept smirking at him. Peter wanted to wipe that smirk on his face but he still felt weak. How much of that drug had he been given? It had to have been strong to be able to override his strength.

“Would you like to put these on?” the doctor offered. Peter snatched them from him before he could say anything and began to pull the sweatpants on. He tied the drawstring at his waist.

The doctor blinked and Peter realized he'd moved pretty quickly when he'd taken the pants. Oh. Oh well.

Good, maybe the doctor would think twice before he messed with Peter.

“It's time for another treatment, Mr Parker.”

'Treatment.' Right.

Peter breathed in slowly. He could try arguing with this guy. Reasoning with him. But none of it would make any difference.

“Fine,” he said, looking down at the floor like he'd given in.

The guards didn't seem convinced, but they didn't grab him. The smirking one shoved him toward the door. They moved down the hall, Peter ahead of them, the doctor behind.

He was pushed toward a door which was open. It was a heavy door – the door to the lab.

He looked inside at the lab and his stomach twisted as he saw the chair again. His whole body was feeling clammy.

He was shoved again, toward the chair.

'Fight,' part of him whispered. 'Fight!'

But he was too weak and even just walking made him dizzy. He turned to look toward the door and a hand shoved his chest so that he stumbled backward toward the chair.

He started to struggle then and the guards grabbed his arms and legs and lifted him onto the chair. The smirking one laughed as he fought and seemed to take a special pleasure in cuffing him into the restraints.

He cursed at them and spat at the one who smirked but he dodged Peter's spit with another laugh.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” the doctor sighed. “If you would...”

The two guards left the room, the one still snickering at Peter before waving goodbye and closing the door behind him.

Peter glared at the door after them. He tried to catch his breath, but his whole body was trembling now.

He tried not to look up at the plates hovering over his head. They were rounded and he knew they would come down to press against his temples.

He jerked in the cuffs, then glanced to the doctor.

“I hope you'll comply better this time, Mr Parker.”

“Go to hell,” Peter responded.

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Teenagers!” he joked. Then he picked up something that looked like a small, black block, made of foam.

He held it before Peter's face.

“Do you at least want to bite down on this so you don't bite your tongue?”

Peter looked away. The doctor sighed.

“Very well,” he said. “We're trying to make this more pleasant for you, Mr Parker.”

The younger man laughed wryly.

“Pleasant. Sure.” Then he shook his head and reminded himself not to speak to these people.

He yelled when he felt something jab him in the arm, hard, and then the block was pressed between his teeth.

When he jerked his head to the side and tried to push it out, he felt the doctor's hands strapping it behind his head. He screamed behind it, struggling.

“There. Now you won't hurt yourself. Oop, one more thing.”

He pressed Peter's head down against the chair and moved a strap over his forehead.

Peter closed his eyes tightly and tried to will himself out of this nightmare. But he wasn't going anywhere.

He opened his eyes when he felt a hum begin through the chair. For a moment he was startled into freezing still, then he glanced over at the doctor. The man was sitting down in a swivel chair and looking pleased with himself.

“Now,” he said and glanced at some piece of paper on his desk. “I want you to think about your Uncle, Peter. Your Uncle Benjamin.”

'No. No no no...'

He shook his head. 'Think of something else. Think of giraffes. No, don't! Don't think of the zoo. Don't think of Uncle Ben taking us there.'

The plates slowly rolled down and he could have sworn he could hear them sparking.

He began to scream before they connected with his temple. 

 

* * *

 

He was trembling against the chair. He didn't know where he was or what was happening anymore. It took him a few moments to remember.

The lab. They were... they were trying to remove his memories.

For a panicked moment, he realized he couldn't remember his name. He squirmed, barely, and it came back to him.

Peter. Peter...

He closed his eyes, trying to think. His face felt wet and his head ached horribly. There was a pain in the center of his head like a knife. He whimpered.

 _Parker_.

A flood of relief swept through his veins and his body sagged against the chair. He tried to focus on breathing, indeed it was all he could focus on.

Someone was unstrapping his forehead, shushing him. Then the block was being removed from his lips. Spit stuck to it and he licked his lips. His mouth felt dry.

“Shh,” someone said. He blinked and looked up. That guy. Osborn.

There was something soft pushing against his lip. Styrofoam.

Water cooled his tongue and he began to drink heavily from it.

He heard voices murmuring and then they were releasing his binds.

“There we go,” that deeper, soothing voice murmured. No, it wasn't supposed to be soothing. He tried to struggle but he was so weak, so drained. It was like everything had been crushed out of him.

He sagged against the man trying to help him stand. He opened his mouth, tried to move his lips, but he couldn't seem to speak.

“There now. Take it easy.”

An arm swept under his legs and he was being carried. He mumbled and his head sagged against a strong arm. There was that familiar smell, like cologne. He wasn't supposed to like it but it was oddly soothing in here, after all the pain.

His eyes felt wet as he was carried somewhere. There were bright lights... after bright light...

Then he heard a door open and he was being carried through another door. Laid down on a cot.

He groaned at the sensation of it under his back and rolled onto his side, his back to the man who set him down.

He felt a hand rubbing his back. At first he wanted to smack it away, but then he just let it rub his back. He murmured again against the pillow on the cot. It smelled good.

Like the cologne.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bum bum buuuum!   
> Yeah I left it on a creepy note. Don't worry, there will be more! Hopefully as soon as I can write it. :) I'm trying to hurry this along through the whole 'captivity and torture' aspect because I feel like it's gotten old fast, at least it has for me. 
> 
> I'm thinking of making the whole 'recovery' and 'Spideypool' aspect of things another fic and turning this into a miniseries. Though this fic is far from over. So sad fic then happy fic, yaaay! Tell me what you guys think :)


	23. Dreams of Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool makes a contact and Peter tries to hold on to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been forever since I've updated! I'm sorry you guys have had to wait so long! I hope you aren't giving up on this story because I'm not! 
> 
> I've had so much to do with work! But I should be able to find some time here and there to update :) 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Alcohol, Deadpool being a jerk about a guy's burned face, obscene language, brainwashing, trauma, angst, flashbacks of sexual assault. 
> 
> This whole brainwashing thing shouldn't take too much longer. I know this story has probably dragged for some of you. I promise in a few more chapters I'll be wrapping up this arc so I can move onto recovery and Spideypool! :) 
> 
> Thank you guys for being so patient! <3 You are great readers and I always love your comments.

“Well if it isn't the Phantom of the Opera,” Wade joked to Weasel as the ginger served him a beer.

“Yeah. He's fuckin' creepin' me out,” Weasel said. They were both pretending not to look at their subject of interest, sitting at a round table by himself to Wade's left.

Another pair down the bar waved Weas over so he nodded to Wade and went over to see what they wanted.

Wade, for his part, was trying out this whole 'being subtle' routine. It wasn't half bad, actually. Just chillin'. Nursing a beer. He was wearing a jean jacket with a hood, black jeans with some sneakers. His hands were bearing fingerless gloves. He still had his katanas hidden behind Weas' bar in case he needed them, despite the guy's 'No Fucking Weapons Behind My Bar' policy. What kind of tight ass ran a bar for mercs but didn't allow weapons behind his counter. Oh, except his weapon. The hypocrite!

Well what Weas didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

He took a swig of the beer, then pretended to look around the bar, opposite direction of the Hydra Boogeyman. Harvey Two-Face.

Romanoff was outside and he heard her mumble in his ear.

“Got a look at him?”

“Yep,” Wade mumbled back and glanced over at the table where the guy was sitting by himself. Funny, he talked to himself all the time but now he had to be all subtle about it. He sighed.

“I'm bored already.”

“Just keep it cool, Wilson. Okay, that's weird.”

“What's weird?”

“Calling you Wilson. I keep thinking of Sam.”

“Then call me Pool. Mr Pool.”

“Uh huh. All right then, Pool. Stay cool.”

“I see whatcha did there,” he nodded appreciatively as he took antoher swig of beer. He checked his phone. No messages. Then he turned and started to look around for a seat. He walked over twoard the table where Hydra's guy was sitting.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, moving to grab a chair and pulli t out.

“Go ahead.”

Wade spotted Weas's disapproving look at the bar. Well fuck him anyway.

“So!” he leaned forward, taking another sip. “Ahh! What's a nice guy like you doing in a shithole like this?”

The man smirked.

“I'm not a nice guy.”

“So it is a shithole? You know, I think it's not that bad.”

“What do you want?”

“what are you selling?” Wade holdss up a hand. “Now if you start talking to me about the Lord, I'm gonna report you to Weas over there. He ain't so fond of the missionary types, y aknow.”

The man smirks again.

“You looking for work?”

“Matter o' fact, I am. Never enough change you know?”

“Sure. You got any experience?”

Wade snorted. “You want a resume? Cause I do actually have one,” he nodded rapidly.

The man gave him a raised eyebrow.

“What's your name?”

“Jimmy,” he held out a hand and Hydra scumbag actually shook it. “Wow, you're so polite! Such manners!”

“Ha. My name's Jack.”

“Jack and Jimmy. I like the sound of that shit already. Whatcha lookin for Jack?”

“It's security work. Muscle.”

“Hmm... whatsit pay?”

Jack scoffed.

“Depends on how hard you're willing to work. This shit isn't so much about pay as showing us what you got. Little pain a little gain, get what I mean?”

Gag, Wade thought.

“This like a gentleman's club or something?”

The man smirked. “Sort of. You ready to show me what you got, you let me know, Jimmy.”

With that, the guy stood up, tossing a card down to Wade.

“Huh,” he picked up the card and raised his beer to the man, nodding. “Thanks, breh.” He watched the guy walk away then picked up the card. It was red with a phone number on it in white.

“Ooh, just like the one in my movie, except that one was black!”

He hopped up and sashayed over to Weasel at the bar.

“Whatcha got?”

“Uh uh,” he shrugged. “Some fight club invitation.”

Weasel rolled his eyes. “What do you want with Hydra anyway?”

“Actually-”

“You know what?” he waved a hand. “I don't want to know. Just make sure it doesn't come back to me.”

“Sure thing. Boy, I'm so glad I got a guy like you I can lean on!” He drained the rest of the beer, then belched and left the bottle on the bar. “Cheers, Weas!” He called as he turned and headed to the door.

“Take care, asshole.”

 

“You got our man? He just left,” Wade mumbled.

“I sure do. Nice conversational skills.”

“Why thank you.”

“You're welcome. Oh and minus ten points for not following directions.”

“Hey! I'm new to this spy shit.”

“I'm gonna keep an eye on our guy here. I'll meet you back at the Tower.”

“See ya later, toots.”

“What did I say about not calling me toots?” she said in a flat tone.

“Uhh...”

“Nevermind,” she grumbled. Her line went silent so he shrugged and began to make his way back to the tower. He wondered over the card he had, if he should call or wait for her. Probably want to wait for the super spy, he mused.

As he headed back to the tower he tried not to think about where Spidey might be. What creepy scientists might be doing to him. There were always mad scientists involved and especially with Osborn being the culprit. There was no telling what exactly – well ya, there were those hormones Stark and Banner mentioned and...

Gwen Stacy might have some ideas to share, actually. And the kid did want to be updated on Spidey Rescue. He decided to stop by a taco joint on his way home, maybe pick something up for the young lady. Nothing helped heal broken fingers like Mexican food! 

 

* * *

 

 

His head hurt when he woke up.

He woke up with a memory in the back of his mind and words on his lips.

When the light of the cell came on, he knew that he'd done this before somehow. That they were his enemies. He just wasn't sure how.

Then Osborn came walking in and it all came back to him. Osborn was his enemy. Norman was...

Norman. 

 _A man touching him in a shower._ Fighting because he didn't want it. Bending over a couch to... to submit? No. To lure him in and _kill the fucking bastard. Kill him. Kill him!_

He was up before he knew what he was doing, climbing up the wall.

He stared at the other man for a moment. Something was firing off behind his eyes – his senses, like flashing lights – Spidey senses.

He didn't know where the phrase came from, but he recognized it.

The man – Osborn – was holding a tray and it held something on it... a styrofoam tray. Food.

He'd had a moment to sit against the wall and then he was sliding down. Whoa... that didn't make any sense.

He looked up at the wall, puzzled, then looked at the man.

Needed to... to web away. That didn't make any sense either. Web? What webs-

Flying over the city. _Oh god, he was going to fall and break against the concrete!_

He whined, clenching his teeth and gripping his head.

“I know, sweetheart. I know it's all been so much.” The man had stared at him while he was on the wall – crazy, he couldn't have been on the wall. Maybe it just felt like that. Maybe he was just leaning against it?

The man's face seemed blurry somehow, like he couldn't quite focus on the details, but he knew that if he could see, he would know them intimately somehow. He'd seen them... over a lab table, during an experiment involving beakers. He'd seen them, seen them in... in the place with the shower.

_Don't think about the shower._

He opened his eyes and looked fearfully at the man, watching his every step. Osborn slowly stepped closer- no, no, don't let him close!

He scrambled up against the wall, panicked, his lips forming soundless pleas.

“It's okay,” Osborn stopped, holding up one hand. “It's okay, Pe- Ana. It's okay, sweetheart. I know you're confused. I just have something for you to eat.”

Ana. Was that his name? It sounded like a girl name and he – he was a he. He was Pe- Peter! Even the man almost said his name.

Peter came back to himself like a slow tide, but rushing all at once to the shore. He snarled and stood on the bed, moving away.

“Stay back.”

“Oh, and you were doing so well,” Osborn said softly.

“Doing well?” he scoffed. “You call this doing... doing well? I can't fucking think! I can barely see your face-” It was like a blur still.

“Come on, Peter. You need to eat.”

“Why?” he laughed, hysterical. “So I can throw it up again? Have I kept anything down these past – has it been days? Has it been – how long have I been here?”

He knew he'd made a mistake as soon as he said it. Osborn smiled a little.

“I can tell you-”

“No, you know what? Fuck you. I don't need to know. Get away from me.”

He leapt off the bed and moved to the other side of the room, ducking away from the other man's arm. He tried to move up the wall again but he found he was sliding down once more. His heart was racing as he tried to gain traction, legs and arms trembling with the effort, but he ended up on the floor, crouched, swearing.

“Stay away from me,” he growled.

Osborn sighed as he sat down on the bed – cot. It actually fucking creaked when he sat down on it.

Peter shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment to try and steady them. It was weird. Every time he moved his eyes, it felt like his vision had to actually catch up. The whole room seemed to... blur? Shake? It was like a digital tv frame freezing up, little blocks everywhere, almost.

He had his ankles crossed, arms close to his body, but he kept glancing at the door and he was tense, wired like a spring. He was ready to fight if necessary. He wouldn't go willingly again to that fucking chair.

Osborn could shove that food down his throat.

“I know they're pushing you really hard – we are. But it's for your own good.”

“Yeah. Sure,” he ignored the tightness of his throat and the growl of his stomach. Fuck his stomach. HE didn't need to eat any of that. What had they been drugging him with? How long had he been in here already?

“Come on, Peter,” he bent forward and Peter froze, ready for the man to stand. But he merely bent over to set the tray on the floor.

“Eat something,” he pushed the tray over with his shoe. Peter stared at his shoe – it was a fucking loafer. Osborn was wearing comfortable gray socks.

Peter was at least wearing some kind of hospital pants but he was still shirtless and he hated the way Osborn frowned and eyed his skin.

“I'm sorry about the bruises.”

Peter glanced down at his wrists, his upper arms. They'd grabbed him at some point. He was certain he must have fought. _Good_. He remembered hitting someone in the face. He hoped it was the doctor.

Cracking someone hard in the face. Blood. Complaining about their teeth. Good, he hoped he knocked the fucking teeth out.

He tried to breathe. His back ached. His whole body was aching, like he'd run a marathon or been lifting something heavy. He remembered helping his Aunt move old stuff out of the house once.

Aunt May. He swallowed against the tears that threatened to surface, glaring at Osborn.

“The sooner you comply,” Osborn had the fucking gall to say. “The sooner we can get this over with, Peter.”

“Fuck you,” he said softly, with barely any ire in it. He lifted his chin. “You go ahead and shock my fucking brains out, Osborn. Do whatever you're going to do. But leave me out of it.”

He looked away, glaring at the corner. He kept listening for the door though.

Osborn chuckled. “I can't really do what I'm going to do and leave you out of it, silly. You're part of the plan. You are the plan.”

“You're going to make me into your girlfriend? Is that your fucked up plan?” He could remember it all now. Ana. Sweet Jesus, what an insane piece of shit.

He had to get out of here.

He glanced up at the window without moving his head, then looked down again. Ugh. He closed his eyes as his vision did the weird blurry, behind-his-eyes thing again. The room settled and he opened his eyes once more. He glanced at the tray.

An actual cup of water. One of those little school boxes of milk – Jesus, where was Osborn even getting this stuff? Some baby carrots, probably stewed. Some kind of mystery meat. Mashed potatoes. Probably flavorless ones.

He thought of his Aunt May's homemade mashed potatoes, full of butter and everything not healthy and his stomach growled.

He sneered as Osborn chuckled.

“All right. I'll leave you to it,” the man stood. Peter glared at him, watching him as he moved to the door.

“I hope you'll at least drink some water,” Osborn coaxed before he left, closing the door behind him.

Peter swore at him as the door clicked shut. Then he eyed the tray for a few minutes. He tried to lean against the wall, wrap his arms around his knees. He stared up at the sky through the tiny window. Fuck.

Pushing away his self pity, he tried rolling his shoulders, sitting up and stretching his back. He stretched his legs out. When he reached out to grab his feet, his back hitched and he winced. He managed to touch his toes. Still flexible.

He pushed himself up slowly. Flexible, but stiff and weak. Peter eyed the tray, then glanced toward the door. No one was looking through the little window on it. Good.

He walked over to the tray. Stupid really, they were probably watching him.

He picked it up and sat on the bed with a sigh. At least they were letting him eat at all. He didn't want to think about how miserable this would be without food.

How long had he even been here? Maybe he could make some kind of mark on the wall when he was awake? The thought struck him and he looked around the room. But where? They would see anything and if there was a camera...

He set the food aside, on the floor, despite the protest of his stomach, and lie down on the bed. He rolled onto his side and slid his hand between the bed and the wall, feeling. Maybe if he did it behind the bed.

He rolled closer, onto his stomach, even while his senses screamed at him to guard his back, to keep watching the door. _Don't make yourself vulnerable, not even for a second-_

He felt something against the wall and scooted closer, peering and moving the blanket so he could see.

There was a small scratch there already. One long, straight line.

He stared at it. It looked like it was carved with a fingernail, barely visible.

His throat felt tight again, so he swallowed.

He stared at the scratch for a while, wondering when he'd done it.

_Why he didn't fucking remember it._

He could barely remember, scratching against the wall, maybe at night. But was he just imagining that? Picturing it and etching the feeling of memory to make himself feel better?

He forced himself to roll onto his back, then slowly sit up. The room spun again so he closed his eyes. Shit.

When he opened them, he slowly turned to sit facing the opposite wall. He picked up the tray.

Peter picked up the mystery meat to sniff at it. Just a round patty of... salisbury steak? Was that was it was meant to be? He let out a weak laugh. Then he chuckled and shook his head.

Fucking mystery meat, right here in his own personal hell.

There was a plastic wrapped fork. He eyed it for a moment. Make a weapon, maybe. Shove it into Osborn's neck, right into the jugular vein -

He closed his eyes, disgusted. He thought of Uncle Ben's face, his eyes, then opened his eyes and looked down at the tray.

Time to eat something. Right.

He unwrapped the plastic from the fork and began to dig in. Every now and then he stopped to sniff or taste something before he ate. He didn't detect any chemical taste or smell, but would that really prevent Hydra from drugging him?

Hydra. God have mercy.

He ate slowly, letting the food numb him. The Avengers were out there, looking for him. They had to be.

_Come on, Cap. Please. Come on, Tony._

 


	24. Fight Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool takes on some potential Hydra recruits and Natasha and Clint make a discovery about who they're really spying on. Peter can't trust his own memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand I'm finally updating this story! I am really hoping to wrap this one up soon so expect some major developments next chapter! I got kind of bogged down with the plot of this story but I'll probably go back at a later date and fix things, maybe rewrite some of it. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments. It really means a lot how much you enjoy this fic! Some of your comments really just make me grin. <3

“Do you want to tell me what you think you're doing going to some Hydra fight club?”

Romanoff inquired when they were back in Stark, nee, 'Avengers' Tower. They were in the 'bridge' as the merc had taken to calling it – really just some meeting room with a lot of screens on the wall. Present were Romanoff, himself, Barton, and Stark. The engineer was searching files on one of the screens, dragging with his fingertips and creating more screens in the air.

“Well it's part of the plot,” Wade said. “So I'm guessing it's gotta happen.”

“No, I mean looking like yourself.”

It kind of threw the merc just a bit that Romanoff never reacted to his fourth wall breaking. She wasn't going to bother calling him crazy? Really? Wow.

“What? These are my casual clothes!”

“Yeah and they're covered in your symbol.” She tapped the toe of her boot by his shoe. He frowned down at the white sneaker with Deadpool emblem on the side.

“Uh... okay, fine. I'll dress like a boring blue collar white guy.”

“Maybe a little less blue collar and a little more gangbanger,” Barton suggested. He was leaning back in a chair at the table in the room.

“Dont' give him ideas,” Natasha said.

“Hey, can you make me a hat like Inspector Gadget?” Wade called to Stark who huffed.

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Aww!”

“Don't you think he'd already have that if he knew how to make it?” Barton offered.

“Seriously,” The icy sensation of Romanoff's glare on his face caused Wade to look at her. “No messing around. No loud, obnoxious outfits.”

“how about a track suit?”

“No track suits.”

“Wha-at! Why not? I need to be able to move!”

“The style of clothes you're waering is fine, just drop the logos everywehre.”

“I could be one of my fanboys. Maybe. Possibly.”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly.

“You have fanboys?” Barton asked.

“Ew,” Stark said.

“Also, no killing anyone,” Natasha pointed at him. “Don't blow our cover.”

“Damn it!” Wade hissed. “What is with you people?”

“You don't need to maim anyone either.”

“First rule of fight club-”

“No. Killing,” Romanoff's voice was flat but he heard her 'I'm dealing with an idiot' exasperation creeping in.

“Okay. Fine. I'll play nice.”

“We still need you to win,” Barton said.

“Actually, we don't,” Romanoff responded. “I'll be looking for specific people. They show up, we may have our next crumb in the trail.”

“I'm working on your face right now,” Tony Stark spoke up.

“Nice!” Wade said. “Romanoff and Wilson: We'll be just like Risolli and Isles.”

“Sure,” Romanoff rolled her eyes. “I'm already looking forward to it.

 

The meeting location, surprisingly, was not the dark and dingy cellar of a building or the parking lot of a grungy diner. It wasn't even the sketchy warehouse complete with randomly dangling chains. Wade felt cheated.

It was someone's shitty little backyard. Lame. There were even shitty beers. Beer flavored waters.

At least there were chips.

He grabbed a handful from a bag and shoved them into his mouth before moving to the center of the yard. Men were already gathering – a bunch of problem kids, it looked like – along the sidelines, by the tall wooden fence that sported more than a few holes. The yard seemed to be more dirt than grass.

Charming. Wade yanked his hoodie off and tossed it aside.

“All right, bitches! Who wants to kick my ass?” he threw his hands up in the air.

“Hey!” one of the guys shouted. “Asshole?” He was dark haired and leanly muscled. “That's not how this shit goes.”

Wade was punching the air.

“Why the hell not? Just have a drag-out knock down. Everybody against everybody. Get this shit over with! Whoo!”

“This is serious. So calm the fuck down or get out.”

“Hey man. I'm taking this perfectly serious.”

“What the fuck happened to your skin, dude?” Another guy called. He was heavyset, bearded, with a shaved head and tattoos.

“Huh? Oh... uh, I was burned as a kid.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. My mom dumped an ashtray on me.”

“Shit,” another man, skinny, blonde, and arms covered with pock marks spke up.

“Sorry man,” Beardo said.

“It's cool,” Wade held his hands up. “We're all bros here!”

“Actually,” Dark haired and smirky said. “You aren't. You're gonna fight for a place among-”

“Speaking of which, when are we getting started. I gotta pick up my kids, bruh.”

“Excuse you,” Dark and Smirky looked pretty annoyed to be interrupted. “I was talking. As I was going to say... we wait until everybody gets here.”

“Shit. I'll throw down with anybody who wants to right nah!” Wade began to punch the air again. He practiced a few high kicks, just because.

Dark and Smirky covered the bridge of his nose with a hand.

“All right. We're waiting on a few more. Also I got somebody who's gonna help me judge.”

“Hell, I don't think you need figuring out who kicks whose ass. I'd think that'd be obvious.”

“Yeah!” A ripped guy in a cut off muscle shirt and a red bandana said. “I agree. C'mon man, this shit feels like high school.”

“The fuck kinda high school you go to?” the skinny guy asked.

“One where bitches like you got wrecked.”

“Whoa,” Deadopol whistled, glancing toward the door. “Harsh, bro.”

Dark and smirky snapped his fingers. “Hey. Both of you cut it the fuck out. We don't start until everyone is here.”

“Shit,” the bandana guy said. “Fuckin' high school all over again.”

The skinny guy still looked pissed about the insult but he wasn't biting. Deadpool sighed, putting his hands on his hips and then checking an imaginary watch. They had to wait ten more minutes before someone showed up, which Wade spent leaning against the least shitty piece of fence he could find. The minutes ticked by until another guy appeared – the one with the partly melted face.

“Hey,” he slowly walked up to Dark and Smirky.

“About damn time,” the man replied. “al lright, assholes. This here is my friend, Jack. We're gonna do this shit. We run this show. You assholes want in, you follow the rules.”

“What rules?” Skinny asked.

“You will fight eachother, one on one, two at a time. Guy who makes it to the end wins,” then he grinned. “Only one other rule – no guns.”

“So we can use knives,” Wade's heartbeat picked up. “Sweet!”

The guy with the burned face, “Jack,” held up a switch blade. “Only these.”

“Awesome!”

“No,” Natasha was saying in his earpiece. “No knives.”

“They're gonna be using knives,” he muttered. “Gotta defend myself.”

“No mortal injuries!”

“ugh! Lady you are a fuckin' buzzkill!” Deadpool whispered, disguising it with his arm from the others by pretending to scratch his neck.

“Don't make me come in there.”

“Okay, mom.”

“Hey, asshole,” Dark and Smirky was looking at Wade. “You wanna go first?”

“Hells to the yes.”

“I'll kick his ass,” Bandana man said. He looked like the type of guy who did 'roids most of his youth and still wasn't finished. His muscles were almost too sculpted and he had a waxy tan.

“Okay then Rex Kwon Do.” Wade yanked his hoodie off and tossed it aside.

“Ugh!” the skinny guy shouted and the others reacted.

“What the fuck is wrong with your face!” Bandana man shouted, his nose wrinkling.

“I just said, asshole! And I'm a little sensitive about it, jeez!” Wade stood with his legs apart and gestured. “Come at me, bro!”

The man charged at him, fists raised. He turned out to be a pretty competent boxer but he was no match for Wade who easily dodged most of his blows and delivered a hard kick to his side, sending him head first into the two 'judges' who had to hop out of the way as the guy crashed into the table with the shitty beers.

“Watch it, asshole!” Dark and Smirky snapped.

“That cannot be him,” Romanoff was saying. “It looks like him but it can't be.”

“Like who?” Wade wondered under his breath, then gave the judges a thumbs up and a smile. “Sorry! Guy's... heavy.”

His opponent had pushed himself up and was brushing himself off. He turned and ran in Wade's direction, fists at the ready again. Wade put up a good defense but he did catch a few punches to the face and chest.

“Ow, shit. This guy is turning me into his punching bag.”

“Well get your shit together, Wilson,” Barton said.

“Barton! Why are you on this channel?” he muttered and kicked his opponent in the knee. There was an ugly crack and the guy howled in pain.

“You fucking... bitch!” he groaned, nearly falling over. And he was still trying to hit Wade!

“Shit, he can have this position.”

“No, no, keep going.”

“I said no serious injuries or maiming,” Romanoff's voice was flat, like she didn't know how she expected anything else. Wade didn't either. He was Deadpool after all.

“Dude, give it a fucking break!” Wade shouted as he sidestepped the man who stumbled forward and fell on his uninjured side. He howled and struggle to grab at his knee.

“Shit,” Dark and Smirky shouted. “All right, one down! Who's next?”

The other guys grumbled and looked at eachother. Some of them were eyeing the door. A couple were giving very pale looks at Bandana man's broken knee.

“That's gonna take a trip to the OR,” Wade noted. “Whoo! You know,” he said softly to Romanoff and Barton. “This is kinda like Super Mario. I fight all these koopas and then there's a boss and Spidey is like Princess Peach.”

“Just shut up and keep fighting,” Barton sounded like he wanted to groan.

“Not like, in that way. Romantically. Just saying he's like... a spider in distress.”

“Please stop talking,” Romanoff said.

“I'll go,” the skinny blonde spat on the ground. He looked like Kurt Cobain's trashier and much scrawnier cousin. His eyes were hard and blue, his face almost skeletal.

“Well we know what your recreational hobby is!” Wade said.

“Oh yeah? N what's that?” The scrawny guy whipped out a switchblade.

[What is with these cliches? It's like the writer isn't even trying!]

“Well we are kinda cliché,” Deadpool said. “I mean, not us, but you know, our enemies usually are.” The blonde was giving him a weird look.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing, ugly drug. Now let's do this!”

 

* * *

 

“Well that hurt,” Wade said later as he finished sticking Hello Kitty and Star Wars bandaids on his arms. “I hope that switchblade wasn't rusty.”

“I don't think it was him,” Romanoff was rubbing at her chin slightly, looking at some photos on a screen.

“Yeah no,” Barton said, his voice filtering from a call. “I tailed the guy to an apartment. It can't be Rumlow. He's not that spry these days.”

“Who's Rumlow?”

Romanoff looked at him. “He was on the STRIKE team with Cap.”

“Oh yeah, that guy from The Purge.”

Romanoff tilted her head. “The Purge?”

“Yeah you know, Frank Grillo.”

She shook her head, frowning, and looked back at the screen. “Haven't seen that one.”

“O-o-of course you haven't!” Wade rolled his eyes. He was back in his usual Deadpool costume minus his shirt. He'd been applying Neosporin and ointment, you know, just cause. Not that he needed it or anything, but still... It was nice to pretend sometimes. He tugged the top of his suit back on, zipping it up and tucking the zipper under the black collar.

“Rumlow shouldn't be running around,” Romanoff continued, still unphased what the hell! “A building fell on him – the Triskelion, actually-”

“Yeah, yeah I saw the movie. I remember now. Cap and his boyfriend on the river bank. Hospital. Somebody actually fished his shield out of the river. _Trouble Man_.”

Romanoff was blinking at him slowly before turning her attention back to the screen.

“You should do spoken word poetry. Okay, Barton. Tell me what you're seeing.”

“Well there's at least two men in this apartment... hang on, there's a third. I don't see our buddy from earlier...”

“Is he like, perched on a building or something?” Deadpool wondered.

Natasha waved at him to be quiet or shoo or something. “Show me.”

“Hold on... Get this thing in place... Here we go. Am I streaming?”

“I see it...” Wade moved to get into position beside her so that he could watch too. Two dark haired men were in an apartment together, visible through a pair of glass doors.

“Convenient,” Wade said, frowning.

“Not really,” Romanoff said. “Why use Rumlow's face?”

“You think that's what's going on here?” Clint asked.

“It's the only thing that makes sense. Rumlow's a wanted criminal in addition to being... severely delibilitated.”

“Unless Hydra souped him up with something like what the Soldier has,” Clint fell quiet for a moment. “Barnes, I mean.” He sounded apologetic.

“It's okay. Cap and Bucky will live happily ever after. In fanfiction,” Wade added.

Romanoff gave him a glare.

“What? It's true.”

“I think it's a trap,” Romanoff was eyeing the video feed.

“A trap?”

“Bait. I don't think Rumlow's really in there. High profile as he is? He wouldn't be at some small time recruitment event.”

“Yeah, that is kind of odd,” Barton said. “So you think... what? That was someone disguised as Rumlow?”

“I think they know we're looking for Peter. That, or they're trying to bait someone else.”

“Why would Hydra be baiting people with Rumlow's face?”

“Law enforcement?” Romanoff pondered aloud. “Or another organization. Maybe even another branch of Hydra. From what I understand fragments of Hydra formed individual branches after the Uprising. They may be fighting for control.”

“So what do we do?”

“We keep watching,” Romanoff said with a sigh. “And we wait.”

 

“Not me,” Wade said, standing up.

“Hm?”

“I'm going back to Weas's place. See what other information I can scrounge up.”

“The trail's led us here,” Natasha pointed to the screen.

Wade shrugged. “You and Birdman watch these guys. I'll go see if anyone's heard anything. Mercs and criminals like Hydra make up a surprisingly small pond. Somebody's bound to have heard _something_.”

“Like who took a spider man and where they took him?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe not that, but... if Hydra's comfortable hanging out at Weas's? That's a pretty bad sign. I think you're right and we're dealing with two parties and one of them clearly isn't trying to be discreet.”

With that, Wade decided it was time to quit messing around. Time to go solo.

 

* * *

 

Peter – he thinks his name is Peter, and isn't that disturbing, that he can't even remember his name for sure – has just eaten what he believes to be lunch. There's no sense to the day, to the time or the 'schedule' and maybe that's how they're screwing him over. His schedule seemed stable at first - he thinks, he can't remember for sure anyway – but now it's like 'wake up at God knows what time' then 'be given something to eat' then 'taken to the lab and questioned' and of course having his brains shocked out.

 

Gibbons – Doctor Gibbons as he introduces himself at one point and Peter's got a feeling that he knows this guy a lot better than the guy lets on – tells Peter that he is recuperating. He isn't sure what he's recuperating from. There was an accident apparently, which sounds right because Peter remembers that – broken glass, screeching tires, the smell of exhaust and the airbag. The only problem is that he doesn't remember much else.

He remembers a blonde girl and classes and assignments. He also remembers climbing in and out of his window and some motherly figure, he thinks it's his aunt. He remembers flying around the city too, in some kind of suit, and that sounds crazy, like he just made that up.

Maybe it's a coping thing? He thinks he's read about coping mechanisms somewhere. After a traumatic event, people make stuff up to deal. Maybe he was just a big nerd with super hero dreams. That makes sense too.

 

“You had a nervous breakdown,” Gibbons explains. “You were a danger to yourself and others.”

That would explain the guards and the way Peter is guided from one place to another. The way his door is locked. He's just sort of accepted that – hasn't even tried to open it, except once, and he found it locked so he went to lie back down. He woke up very confused that time.

Gibbons is sitting next to him on the bed and Peter just accepts this too. He feels uncomfortable but he isn't sure why. Gibbons seems reasonable enough. He gives Peter plenty of room.

Gibbons insists that Peter call him 'Charles,' which Peter thinks is a little strange. Charles? Is that really his name? It doesn't seem right, but Peter goes along with it.

 

“What um... what caused it?” Peter can't help asking the question. It feels right. He's a scientist of some sort or he was studying to be. It feels right and he remembers wearing a lab coat and being in a lab, working on stuff, doing experiments maybe. He can't remember exactly what but he knows that he did.

Charles smiles sympathetically. “You were very upset. You'd had a rough semester at school and you took your friend's car out for a spin. It was a nice car.”

“Wow... damn.” Peter remembers that car pretty much being destroyed. “Did I... I hit someone, didn't I?”

“You did. You hit another car. They were fine, but... it was pretty bad. You weren't wearing a seatbelt so you were badly injured.”

He winces. He remembers pain and lying on a table, he thinks naked. That sounds weird. Maybe he was so badly injured they had to take off all of his clothes and do surgery.

“Did I break any bones?”

Charles nods. “You did. A few ribs. You also hurt your ankle, your wrists, your neck. Fortunately your neck was only sprained. Whiplash.”

“Oh.”

His neck does feel a little stiff, but maybe that's the shocks.

“Why um... why do I get shocks?”

“Well... as I'm sure you know, electric shock is used very rarely now.”

“Oh. I didn't know they were supposed to use it at all.”

Charles looked disturbed. “Oh. Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry. You must have been... freaked out with all this going on. I thought you... Oh, I'm sorry.”

He genuinely seemed sorry. Peter felt kind of angry, deep down somewhere. Shouldn't they have been talking him through this whole process? Maybe they had and he just didn't remember... He couldn't seem to remember much about the day before or even the past week. He just knew he'd been here for a while.

“I'm very sorry, Peter. I mean, Ana.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Well... the others said I shouldn't push it, but... you made it well known that you wanted to be called Ana. Before the accident, I mean.”

“Why...” Peter licked his lips. “Why did I want to be called Ana?”

'Why don't I remember anything?'

“Well... your friends think you might have been trying to come out as transgender.”

“What?” Peter shook his head. No. That didn't fit somehow. It didn't make sense. He thought about the blonde girl. “My friends?”

“Yes. They said you kept insisting they call you Ana and use female pronouns to refer to you. Her and she. I think that's what caused the breakdown,” Charles makes his voice more gentle. “You were so confused and you felt like no one understood.”

He sat there, stunned as he listened. No one understood.

He remembered harboring a secret. Something very intense – something dangerous, that could hurt other people. He did, didn't he? He hid something.

But what was it?

He remembered climbing out of his window. Was he like, wild and crazy or something?

Was he gay? Wait, no, transgender... that was people who were the wrong gender. Sort of.

He shook his head.

“I don't remember.” Just trying to think about it made his head hurt.

“You always wanted to be a girl,” Charles said. “I mean, you are a girl, deep inside where it counts.”

Peter... Ana.. frowned.

“That's weird.”

There was a little voice in the back of his head and it was screaming at him but the voice sounded like it was down a well.

' _You can't trust him_.' It was saying. ' _He's a liar_.'

' _His name isn't Charles_.'

Peter had a very creepy feeling running up his spine for a moment as he stared into Charles's eyes, trying to read something from them. Then he looked away.

“I um. I don't remember much.”

“What do you remember?”

Peter had that feeling again... that he couldn't quite trust Charles somehow. Maybe Charles was telling the truth about this whole transgender thing – and it made sense, didn't it, that Peter would keep it a secret? That it wouldn't feel right now, if he'd had a breakdown. Maybe he was in denial about it?

He shook his head, unable to think about that right now. He licked his lips trying to think what he should tell Charles. What was 'safe' to say.

And maybe that just showed he was paranoid if he feltl ike he couldn't trust the doctor. Maybe that was why he was in some mental hospital. His throat felt tight and he swallowed. Where was his aunt or... or his parents? Did he have parents? He seemed to remember them having died a long time ago.

Maybe his aunt just didn't want to deal with him. Well if he was sneaking out of his window at all hours, that made sense, right?

“I'm sorry Ana. I didn't mean to upset you.”

He almost jerked at the name. 'Don't call me Ana,' the voice inside wanted him to shout. But he shrugged instead. Better to play along with this for now... whatever this was. Something told him to play along with it. To... to wait until the right moment? For what?

Was he going to try to escape? Should he?

He just blinked quietly, unsure what to say.

“I'm fine,” he said at last.

Charles nodded. “I'm going to let you get some rest. Oh and... when you're better, you can go ahead and get your surgery. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Peter stared at him.

“Surgery?” Why would anyone like a surgery?

“Your uh, your bottom surgery.”

Bottom surgery... Peter frowned. Something settled at the bottom of his mind and he felt a chill.

“No,” he shook his head, curling in on himself. “I don't want surgery!”

“Okay,” Charles lifted his hands. Something flickered in his eyes and Peter wasn't sure what it was. “Okay. That's fine, Ana.”

He nearly twitched at the name again. It wasn't right. Something about all of this wasn't right at all. But Peter didn't know any better, any different... so how could he say it wasn't?

He looked away, his stomach twisting. He didn't feel right. Something was really wrong about all of this.

 


	25. Another Asset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Avengers work to find Peter, a renegade with Hydra in his past takes an interest in Deadpool. Gwen decides to take action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B'lyad is 'fuck' in Russian. The moar you know...   
> Warnings for this chapter: Canon typical violence. Alcohol. Brainwashing and mention of dark past. Bucky being more than a little creepy and spying on people. 
> 
> This chapter focuses entirely on Bucky Barnes but I promise the next chapter will be pretty much all Peter. I plan to have it up within a week. Sorry the posts haven't been regular!

The “Winter Soldier” didn't really fit him anymore. He didn't know what he was, or who he was now exactly. He knew that he wasn't what he was before. He wasn't a mindless soldier, killing in obedience to Hydra's – to Pierce's – whims.

But he would never be that charming boy from Brooklyn again and he doubted he could even be the sergeant with the wry smirk and the shadows under his eyes.

He was hiding in Ghent. He was hiding in plain sight, really.

Sometimes he wondered if he'd really lost his mind. Maybe all those times they wiped him _had_ fried his brains...

He was trying to read a book at the apartment he considered his new 'safehouse' when he started to feel it. He looked up with a frown. Something wasn't right.

Everything was too peaceful.

A scoff came to his lips and he shook his head. But his instincts wouldn't die down and he'd learned never to ignore them. He rose and moved carefully through the apartment. Peering out some of the windows, he was careful not to move the blinds. He felt someone watching him. He just wasn't sure how or where they were.

Only one way to find out. 

 

* * *

 

He left his apartment to go get some fruit. That was it. Just some fucking fruit.

That was when he first felt her eyes on him and his heartbeat started to pick up. She was here.

The Widow? But what did she want from him?

He was just purchasing the plums; he'd seen them resting there on the fruit stall looking juicy and recalled reading something about them aiding memory. He was thanking the vendor and putting them into his bag.

Just like that, he could feel her eyes.

He froze for a moment, then kept moving, offering a passing lady a small nod. She smiled at him, leading her little boy along by the hand. He could feel something prickling at the back of his neck.

So he ducked.

He heard it whistle by overhead.

A dart. Probably a tranquilizer.

He heard the ambulance approaching and swore. The convenient ambulance. Right.

With a whirl, he eyed the streeth, scanning the faces of nearby people. He contemplated running to his apartment. No. They would be waiting there for him.

He turned down an alleyway and that was when he heard her.

Shit she was fast.

He glanced up to see her standing above him, on a fire escape. She smirked.

 _Not the Widow then._ His brows furrowed. She was familiar and yet... Was she one of the other widows?

“Do you recognize me, soldat?”

He stared at her for a moment too long and then he was running.

He dodged the second tranq dart, dropping the plums as he ran. Another fired and he barely managed to miss it – it whistled by his ear threateningly and he clenched his teeth as he ran faster.

B'lyad!

He barely dodged a car as he ran across a narrow street, the driver honking at him. He could see the driver inside swearing and reacting before he slipped down another alleyway.

Why had they sent her after him? Why now?

He knew her all right. He recognized her from a mission, years prior. Rumlow had been there. The asset was wearing his armor, his team getting ready to leave. Then she walked up – who was with her? Pierce? He couldn't remember. But he could remember her eyes – the mockery in them. She'd found him an object of pity.

He wouldn't tire easily but he wouldn't be able to keep up this rate much longer. She too was enhanced and she was gaining on him.

He slid to a halt in an alcove leading to a doorway – the door of some dive bar from the smell of it. He waited, his heart hammering. He didn't look around the corner.

He just listened.

He wasn't sure he would be able to hear the click of her boots – she would be stepping softly if she thought he was near.

Someone stepped out of the bar and he nearly started. Instead, he nodded to them, pretending to lean casually against the wall. It was a man in his forties, balding, lighting up a cigarette. He nodded to Bucky and mumbled something. Bucky nodded, waiting.

She stepped into his view and he jabbed his arm out in front of her just as she did. She had been in a jog and she jogged straight into his arm, letting out a choking noise as it caught her in the throat.

The older man swore as she dropped onto her back.

Bucky slid down to his knee and punched her, hard, in the temple.

The older man was staring at him in shock, his cigarette having fallen to the pavement.

He rambled something to the effect of 'What the hell did you do that for?' and Bucky nodded to him again before leaping over her body and running.

He could have tried to take her with him, keep her captive somewhere, interrogate her, but she wouldn't have broken. She was actually loyal to Hydra, even if she'd been something of an asset like him. 

 

* * *

 

He left the city that night.

This was hours after he watched them pick up her unconscious body in an ambulance and take her to some nearby hospital. He watched the hospital, waiting for her to discharge and when she did within a few hours, entering a sleek black vehicle, he noted the license plate.

It took him a few days, but he found the vehicle not far outside the city.

It was only a matter of forcing his way into the house and knocking out the first man who came to the door. Then he broke the leg of the other, causing the man to scream.

He was young, maybe only in his twenties. His flesh hand trembled while he stood over the young man, but Bucky forced himself to speak.

“You will tell me where you took her.”

“I don't know who you're talking about.”

Bucky raised his foot as if about to step on his leg and the young man yelled.

“No, no, no – okay! Okay... She... I took her to a... the airport. She went back to the States.”

“Which one?”

“I don't- okay! Okay!” he shouted again as Bucky raised his foot once more. “Fuck... she um.. I think New York. She went to New York.”

“What name is she going by?”

“Hess, I think. Leona Hess.” His forehead was beading with sweat.

“Good.” He pointed a finger at the man. “You won't tell her about this. Because if you do, I'll come back,” he stared into the man's eyes. “You know what will happen.”

The younger man nodded, his eyes widening. He had hazel eyes that almost reminded Bucky of Rumlow's. His stomach twisted and he turned, leaving. 

 

* * *

 

He left Brussels and headed up to England. He got to the airport and slipped on to a private jet after masquerading as a technician. He had to ride in storage, but it was better than riding coach on a commercial flight. He'd done that on the way from the States a year before and he shuddered, remembering it – the feeling of people pressing in around him on all sides. He'd been nervous the whole time that he'd be recognized. But that had been so soon after the Triskelion and the information about him hadn't been found yet, in all the files Romanova leaked to the internet.

It took almost another week before he found Hess. He called in a tip on a burner phone to 911 about seeing some crazy guy with a metal arm breaking into a building in Hell's Kitchen.

“911, what is your emergency-”

“Yeah, yeah, hi! Listen, I uh... I saw this guy... I think he's bad news.”

“Excuse me?”

“This guy. He's got like a metal arm. I think he was in those files, you know, the ones they leaked online from D.C. Anyway, I saw him-”

“Sir? Sir, okay slow down-”

“I saw him and he was breaking into this building-”

 

He was actually surprised at how quickly it brought the police out, along with some types he guessed to be FBI or CIA.

Not to mention a handful of Avengers.

His throat tightened at the sight of Steve Rogers and Romanova arriving on the scene. They were wearing plain clothes but Bucky could tell who they were. He spotted them through the window of the store nearby that he was using as his base of operations.

Rogers looked solemn and worried. Bucky had seen the news about a boy named Peter Parker missing, seen some of the conjecture in tabloids about who exactly Peter Parker was and why the Avengers were looking for him.

There was a girl tied up in it all too – blonde and pretty. Bucky didn't know what it all meant, but he suspected Steve had his work cut out for him.

The building he'd been 'seen' breaking into was actually not far from the same one the Avengers had recently descended on. Before he called his 'tip' in, he'd broken a window open and left it that way – which he would never actually do if he was really breaking into a building. A detail like that would bother Romanova. He wore a loose black hoodie while he did it, deciding to give anyone who checked security footage something to look at. He snatched a random laptop while he was in the building – he'd slipped right into someone's office. Then he dumped the laptop a few streets away. They would find it and it would give them – the authorities and agencies - a mystery to work on. Busy work.

 

He felt a twinge as he watched Rogers who was wearing a wool coat and a baseball cap. Shit. It was painful just looking at him.

If only _they_ would show up now. Maybe Hydra really didn't have as many resources as he'd thought?

Bucky was now watching via street surveillance, hiding in the break room for the employees. The manager had a tv set up on a table there that showed the various cameras, one of them pointing at the street in front of the store and at the buildings across it. Bucky wore a baseball cap and an employee t shirt, with a jacket thrown over it. He scratched at the facial hair that had grown out while he was in Europe. He also wore the ludicrous large framed glasses that seemed to be in style these days.

“Hey, what'd you say your name was?” a young employee came to bother him, standing in the doorway. Bucky stared at him.

“Robert. You can call me Bert though.”

“Okay, uh...” he stared off as if thinking. He was a fresh faced kid with one or two pimples on his chin. “You said Tina said you're closing?”

“Yeah.”

“Well just be sure you mop okay? We're supposed to do it like twice a week.”

“Sure,” he nodded.

“Kay. My name's Matt by the way. Did I tell you my name already?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh okay,” the boy laughed softly. “Sorry, man. Anyway, I'm gonna be leaving soon. Probably like thirty minutes. You gonna be okay to close up?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. All right, well, see you later.” He waved.

“Later.”

It was amazing how easy it was to pretend to work somewhere. He'd just stolen one of the work shirts from the supply closet after walking in as a customer. Matt was too busy reading a magazine to notice him enter.

He'd have to leave before long though, of course. Before the kid casually mentioned 'Bert' to his manager.

He returned, comfortably, to watching the security footage and sipped on the slushie he'd treated himself to.

Closing indeed.

 

He did lock the store before he left, but it definitely closed long before it's usual hours – as soon as the boy left. The last thing he needed was any of the authorities coming in to get themselves a snack and noticing the Soldier behind the counter.

He packed up some snacks himself while he was at it, securing them in a plastic bag, leaving a few crumpled bills in the drawer to pay for it. Bucky had been able to get some money here and there – raiding Hydra's safehouses or helping people move furniture.

He'd spotted some curious looking types among the 'agents' scattered around the scene and he had a feeling he recognized one of them – a woman with red hair. She could just be former SHIELD but he would still try following her. As soon as he spotted her and decided he recognized her, he made the decision to close the store.

He watched, across the street, as she slipped into a car alongside a man who had a slight belly and was balding. He could be no one. But she was familiar and something about her triggered his memory.

He made sure he didn't have Romanova or anybody on his trail and took a cab, telling the driver to follow the car.

 

The car pulled into the parking garage of a building and Bucky got out there, paying the cab driver and telling him to keep the change. He moved down the sidewalk at a quick but natural pace, as close as he could get to natural. It was just important that he look like somebody heading home from work, which his clothes suggested he was.

He peeked at the front entrance of the building – some private corporate offices. Upscale. His instincts were hissing at him as he glanced at the signs for the different companies on a plaque by the door, corresponding buttons to the right if someone wanted to call up to them.

He thought about calling up, making up a story – 'Hi, someone dropped something – a lady with red hair -' but it was too risky and he was starting to become nervous. He glanced at the signs again, trying to determine who and what he was dealing with. If they weren't Hydra, were they CIA? FBI? Local police?

One of the signs read “Millenium Imaging,” another “Sharp Holdings.” There wouldn't be anything in the name that would tip him off necessarily but he saw nothing about law offices.

He went across the street and bought a hot dog, eating it slowly as he watched the doorway to the edifice. People moved behind him on the sidewalk in a slow river. The hot dog was pretty good.

He was licking mustard from his fingers and had just tossed the wrapping paper into a garbage can when the red haired woman stepped out of the building. She looked up and down and hailed a cab. He got into another cab, following her to a private apartment building.

 

This building also had a buzzer system though it wasn't as upscale as the office building had been.

He did something that he hated doing as soon as it got dark – he scaled the building.

He had to peek in several windows before he located one he could see her through. She was walking through her living room, going to a kitchen. She seemed to live alone. There was a cat, following her and curling around her feet. He would have to be careful to make sure it didn't notice him. A curious cat could get noisy.

He watched as she headed into a bed room and closed the door. The cat had followed her into the room.

Shit. That would make this harder.

He needed to figure out a name, who she worked for. That might give him a clue as to why she looked so familiar.

He could see her, in a navy suit with a skirt and heels. Smiling politely in... a photo. Photo ID? Had she worked for SHIELD originally?

It was possible she just looked like someone he remembered. Damn it.

Still, if she worked for one of the alphabet agencies, she might be an in for some information on Hydra in the area.

He went up to the roof, broke the door handle to the entrance he found and slipped inside. It didn't really matter if he'd triggered an alarm. He needed to find information and fast.

Thankfully, her apartment door had a good old fashioned lock. He slipped out a hair pin and picked it as quietly as possible, then slipped into the apartment, carefully closing the door behind him.

Bucky searched the living room area and kitchen. He could hear light chuckling coming from the bedroom and... a television. If she had a laptop it might also be in there with her.

He found a few family photos. Maybe a sister? Mom and dad... Some nieces or nephews. It looked like the whole family were redheads. He peered closely at the faces in the pictures, unsure.

Then he spotted a cell phone resting on a table and immediately snatched it up. He hid in a small closet while he searched it. The last few calls were from Mom and two men – Travis and Bob. He searched the text messages.

The woman's name was Hope or someone addressed her as Hope anyway. The most recent conversation read “I'm on my way.” It dated to earlier that day, after he'd called himself in to 911.

He went through the browser history, looking at internet searches. He searched the bookmarks. He searched the contacts. He searched everything he could think of on the phone. Her email happened to be open so he searched that too. But he didn't see anything that might have alluded to Hydra.

It felt like he was chasing a thread that was growing thinner and thinner.

He exhaled slowly, as quietly as he could. Then he listened. The apartment was quiet. Good.

He opened the closet door slowly, peering to make sure he hadn't been noticed. Then he replaced the cell phone after wiping off its touch screen on his jacket.

Bucky gave another glance to the photos on the shelves built into the wall. No graduation photos, nothing agency related, wait! There was a plaque. _Excellence in duty, blah blah_.

She was NYPD. Interesting.

He locked the door behind him, then slipped quietly from the apartment and left via the roof again.

He might have to revisit Hope, see if she had anything new in her email.

 

He would have to chase down other leads in the meantime. Wonderful.

He ate a candy bar and thought about the Parker kid. He'd read some magazines and newspapers back at the convenience store while he watched the surveillance videos. It looked like the kid had gone missing almost a month ago and was then rescued by the Avengers at some point but no news had been heard of him since then. It sounded like he'd been 'recuperating in Stark Tower.'

There was only one of two reasons the boy would be in Stark Tower and Bucky had to agree with the tabloids; it really looked like he might actually be the Spider Man since the media had noticed his disappearance simultaneously.

Or the kid had something to do with the throw down in Hell's Kitchen that occurred a week prior to Bucky's arrival in the area.

All very interesting.

From what he'd read the battle had to do with Hydra. He would try to get inside of the building except that it was taped off and likely being watched by the authorities. Probably guarded as well.

Any intel would have probably been collected by the Avenger's anyway and he chided himself for chasing a false lead to some poor girl's apartment. Still, she might be someone to keep an eye on if she had ties to law enforcement.

Bucky contemplated his choices as he finished off the chocolate bar.

There was one curious element about the whole thing and that was the mention of the mercenary – Deadpool. He'd been sighted multiple times; at an Oscorp downtown and at the battle as well as around Stark Tower. Most of the articles Bucky had seen mentioned the mercenary at some point and everyone seemed to find his appearance unsavory.

Bucky had been sent once by Hydra to assassinate Deadpool. It hadn't gone so well.

He'd tried probably about seven times before he finally discovered that it was damn near impossible to kill the mercenary at which point Hydra must have become bored and decided that they still made their point to the lunatic. He couldn't remember all the details. He just recalled how annoying it was when he shot and stabbed the man on seperate occasions and the guy _kept talking_.

Bucky checked his few funds and decided to pay patronage to the only place he knew he could find mercenaries. But first, he needed supplies and for that he would have to stop by one of the few safehouses he remembered in the area.

 

* * *

 

It took him almost an hour to get out to Jamaica.

Oh right, it wasn't a safehouse. It _used_ to be an apartment _probably_ owned by someone in SHIELD or Hydra that they'd _used_ as a safehouse once during a mission. The Soldier had probably reported back here afterward. He recalled a dim light overhead in the kitchen, giving his report to a man seated and drinking a beer. He could see it, even feel the sweat on his own body to a degree.

Now it was standing empty. Still, he found it easy to slip inside the townhouse.

It was cold, but Bucky discovered an old mattress lying on one of the floors and it wasn't drafty in the house. He checked the walls in the closets and discovered a knife and a pistol. No bullets in the pistol, unfortunately. Well, he could get those at a pawn shop maybe. He found a pack of cards on a chipped coffee table downstairs and curiously toyed with them before slipping the pack into his jacket pocket.

He even checked the basement which held dusty shelves. He found jugs of water but they were old and greening on the inside from algae. He did find some bottles of wine, which amused him.

He went back upstairs and curled up on the mattress. Lying there it took him a while to get to sleep. He watched the ghosts of headlights from passing cars moving over on the wall. He remembered being a boy and hearing the far off rattle of cars, one of them occasionally backfiring. He remembered the snores and whistles of his friend Steve and he swallowed at the strange and sudden tightness in his throat.

He got a few hours of sleep, but woke before the dawn. Then he took the remaining snacks in his plastic bag, slipped the pistol into the back of his pants and headed out again. He went by a thrift store and bought a flannel shirt, a different jacket, and a new hat. He also stopped by a convenience store and bought some wipes to clean himself up quickly with since the safehouse had no running water. He left the other clothes in the restroom of a nearby _Subway_ after taking a bird bath with the wipes and changing.

He sipped from a bottle of Gatorade as he waited not far from Stark Plaza – just far enough away that the cameras weren't picking him up. He kept his face tilted downward so that the hat covered it. It was painful and... thrilling to be this close to Steve. But he chided himself mentally for the latter. 

 

* * *

 

It actually didn't take long before the idiot merc emerged.

He was comical, almost clownish, in the way he moved across the plaza toward the tower, whistling. He was actually holding a giant cup of coffee from Starbucks and a bag of what had to be breakfast food. Bucky felt a twinge of hunger for real food after eating so much junk. Even a breakfast sandwich would be nice right about now.

He watched as the merc stopped to chat with various guards. Didn't the idiot ever wear anything else other than that bright red stupid costume? Didn't he realize how much he was singling himself out? Bucky shook his head in awe.

He shadowed the man for a few hours, never going far from Stark Plaza. He did stop at a cafe and ordered a sandwich and a bottle of water. He made sure that he was close to the door and able to see the tower from where he was sitting.

When the merc reemerged, he packed up the rest of his sandwich and finished off his bottle of water. He tossed it into a garbage can nearby as he headed out of the cafe, following Deadpool's trail. 

 

* * *

 

Several hours later forced Bucky to conclude that the merc had no idea what he was doing.

He'd followed the man around Hell's Kitchen, watching him bang on various doors, barge in, get himself kicked out, or alternately threaten various people. Bucky had stood on fire escapes to listen in. He'd leaned casually in doorways and against parked cars. He was starting to wonder if he was getting obvious but the merc was either so wrapped up in his own madness that he didn't notice the man following him or he really just didn't care. Neither would have surprised Bucky at this point.

He seemed to continue an almost constant running monologue – or dialogue with himself? Bucky wasn't sure. The merc would gesticulate and prattle to himself as he walked along, other times breaking into song or making references to things Bucky couldn't quite follow.

At first it was just weird, then it became irritating when the merc actually _stopped_ in the middle of the sidewalk to say something and Bucky had to duck into an alleyway.

“Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight,” the lunatic sang in the evening as they approached St Mary's Orphanage – the dive Bucky hoped might produce some sign of Hydra. “Someone's thinking of me...” 

It was pretty amazing that the man could still speak let alone sing after a whole day of chattering to himself in that gravelly voice of his. Then again it seemed he stayed hydrated with some drink or another. He was almost constantly eating, that was for sure, and it always seemed to be junk.

He slipped into St Mary's. Bucky waited a few moments, then followed.

St Mary's wasn't too busy, but there were enough people that Bucky could slip in unnoticed. He didn't quite stand out but he wasn't really 'fitting in' with the rough crowd here either. He knew enough not to make eye contact with anyone, but not to back down. Fortunately, no one bothered him though a few people gave him raised eyebrows or an appraising look.

He found an empty booth and took a seat, slipping the deck of cards he'd found in the safehouse out of his pocket to shuffle. It helped, having something to busy his hands.

He actually found that he wanted something to drink from the bar after watching other patrons sip on theirs. Alcohol didn't really affect the Soldier... Bucky. But sometimes it was nice to enjoy the taste. It might also help him look more natural and at ease though anyone with any experience in here would be able to tell that he was far from 'at ease.'

He watched the merc, glancing up every now and then, who was standing at the bar, chatting and gesticulating with the red haired bartender and who Bucky guessed to be the owner of the establishment by the ease and confidence with which he spoke to anyone at the bar. Meanwhile, Bucky tried to keep an eye on the other patrons, see if anyone was keeping a close eye on _him_.

 

Bucky contemplated the merc as he shuffled his cards. He was talkative... it might not be hard to get him to talk about whatever the Avengers were currently doing, since he was apparently welcome in Stark Tower. Not that Bucky could imagine the merc really being welcome there... but he was at least admitted to the building and that was curious. If the Avengers had a recent run-in with Hydra in Hell's Kitchen... the merc might know a little about that and be willing to talk.

 

He went up to the bar casually and stood not far from the merc who was drinking some... concoction with an umbrella in it. Bucky stared at the drink until the bartender noticed him and came over.

“Hi,” the red haired man said. He looked slightly nervous, freckled, and like he didn't get much sleep. Bucky probably could have grabbed him by the nape of his neck and broken him on the counter. He suspected the man had a gun behind the counter somewhere. He had to have some kind of security or back up if he dealt with mercenaries all the time.

 

“Heineken,” Bucky told the bartender, then flinched. He didn't really want Heineken. Heineken was what Rumlow drank.

“We have some other stuff that's pretty good,” the bartender must have noticed his change of heart because he motioned up at one of the chalk boards on the wall behind him, next to one that read “DEAD POOL.” It had names on it and Bucky guessed it was for wagers.

“Try a white zombie?” The mercenary down the bar suggested. “It's pretty good...” He was twirling a straw through his drink and humming to himself.

Bucky frowned, his eyebrows furrowing, then glanced to the bartender who shrugged a shoulder.

“White zombie,” he nodded.

“Sure thing, man.” The bartender patted the counter, then went to reach into a fridge and grab a bottle. “Glass?”

Bucky nodded and watched as the bartender poured it for him.

“Name's Weas... You must be new.”

Bucky nodded. It wasn't really a question.

“What's your name?”

He managed to keep the twitch from his face as he said it. “Jimmy.”

Weas nodded. “Nice. House Rules Jimmy? No weapons, except mine.”

“That's just bullshit,” the merc said, burping. Weas rolled his eyes.

“Mainly because of assholes like this,” he pointed to Deadpool and Bucky's lips curled at the corner in a smirk. “But if you have any on you, long as you keep 'em locked down, we're good. Also – no shooting in my bar. No stabbing. No fighting of any kind. Take that shit outside. We cool?”

Bucky nodded. “Cool.”

“Thank you,” Weas looked pleasantly surprised. “You seem reasonable. Good luck.” He gestured to the board up on the wall that read “DEAD POOL.” “When you get to know everybody, you can place bets.”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged a shoulder, glancing to Deadpool. “What are your odds?”

Deadpool giggled.

“Nobody's figured it out yet,” he raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “You wanna give it a shot?”

For a moment he thought the merc was flirting with him, waggling those eyebrows of his.

He wasn't sure what to say. 'I've already tried it. Didn't work?' He merely shrugged and looked at his beer.

“Okay Jimmy,” he watched as Deadpool slid his colorful drink closer down the bar. “What gives?”

“What do you mean?”

“You show up here - I've never seen you before by the way. You're all mysterious, wearing a baseball cap of all things-”

Bucky smirked and glances around.

“Yeah, well...”

“Yeah well this is a bar for _psychopaths_ ,” Deadpool dropped his voice to a whisper. There was an intensity to it that made Bucky look at him curiously. It sounded like the man was hissing. His gaze didn't seem amused when Bucky met it. “And you look... really _cuddly_ to be here.” The merc actually leaned in, eyes narrowing. “I mean, that five o' clock shadow just makes you look like a teddy bear.”

He leaned back, tilting his head, eyes still narrowed.

“So... where'd you work before?”

“Russia,” Bucky said without missing a beat. “Ukraine. Iran. Japan,” he shrugged. “I get around.”

“Sure,” Deadpool jerked his head to one side, then nodded. “But you don't...”

Bucky stared at him. This man's clowning was starting to get on his nerves and Deadpool was invading his space.

“Look like...”

Bucky stared. Deadpool shifted nervously

“You don't look... you don't look like a merc is all I'm saying. Jeez.”

Bucky's gaze softened and he gave the man a smirk. It felt a little forced but expressions usually did.

“What should a merc look like?” he glanced up and down Deadpool's suit pointedly.

“Okay, okay. I know I'm a little more... glamorous than most,” Deadpool wiggled his head and his hips, waving a hand. “Not everybody uh, advertises their identity as much as I do. But most of the folks in here,” he waved a hand toward the other people in the bar. The crowd had been steadily growing and it was starting to make the back of Bucky's neck crawl. “You'll notice they aren't exactly _clean cut_.”

Bucky nodded once, glancing around. “I see what you mean,” he frowned as the door opened and some of the people nearest to it turned to look. Within a few moments half of the crowd had fallen silent. But then they started looking to eachother with raised eyebrows, some snickering.

Deadpool had also turned to look and was now sitting up straighter on his stool.

“What the... Is that...”

Bucky glanced at him. Then his eyes narrowed as he tried to peer around the people at the tables closer to the door. Someone had entered, someone smaller and slender, wearing jeans and a hoodie. As he watched, this person – apparently female judging by her shape – was slowly entering the bar glancing around from under the sweater's hood. He could see a small, pale face and the glimmer of a green eye.

“Fuck!” Deadpool nearly growled. “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.”

As Bucky watched, he pushed himself up from the bar and headed toward the young woman. She almost reminded Bucky of one of the Black Widows as she gracefully stepped around the people staring at her.

She noticed Deadpool and glanced toward Bucky next to him. Bucky turned and faced the bar again, drinking from his beer. He noticed Weas, the bartender, watching him curiously, then giving a puzzled glance to the girl. Bucky shrugged and turned his full attention back to his beer. Meanwhile, he listened.

The girl had apparently approached Deadpool because he was reading her the riot act.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” he hissed.

“I'm tired of waiting around,” the girl sounded young, almost petulant. But the imperious nature in her voice almost made the corner of Bucky's lips curl in amusement. She sounded familiar to him somehow.

“You need to get back to the tower right now. Pronto, missy!”

“I came here to see if you found anything useful.”

“Wha...” Deadpool scoffed. “Oh.. oh okay. I see how it is. Did Widow put you up to this?”

There was a beat of silence. Bucky could almost picture the girl looking down or away.

“She doesn't even know you're here,” Deadpool answered his own question in a flat, unamused tone.

Another beat of silence followed. Somehow Bucky was picturing the girl lifting her chin stubbornly. It reminded him of another small, slender person, equally stubborn.

Steve.

“Does anybody know you're here?” Deadpool sounded exasperated. But how did he know some young girl? Was she one of the Avengers? A junior member maybe? Bucky highly doubted they would enlist a child. Then again he knew better than to underestimate a young girl. Romanova had begun killing when she was even younger than this girl.

“No.”

Deadpool swore again. He then let out a soft laugh.

“I don't know why I bother. You know what kind of shit fit Romanoff will throw if she finds out you're here? By _yourself?_ Who the fuck even let you in? Isn't there someone watching the damn door in this place?” The last sentence was nearly shouted at the bartender who gave the merc a taken aback look.

“Excuse me?” The redhead responded.

“What the hell, Weas? This place is goin' to the dogs!”

Some of the people nearby laughed, evidently amused by Deadpool's antics, but then the mercenary returned his attention to the girl and lowered his voice.

“You need to go home _now._ ”

“I can't go home. I'm expected at the tower,” she retorted and Bucky could picture her lifted chin again.

“That's... that's what I meant!”

“No. I'm not going back until I find out what you've learned. What are you even _doing_ anyway? You're just sitting here drinking with this guy.”

“Uh, my friend here – what was your name again?”

“Um. Jimmy,” Bucky said, blinking and pretending not to be certain for a moment.

“Jimmy. Yeah. Jim and I here think you should go back to the tower because you are _not fucking safe_ in this place, okay? At least half the people in here have been in and out of prison at some point! For... stuff! So you should go!”

“So what have you found?” Bucky turned to look at the girl who had crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyebrows were raised and he could see that she was pretty. She nearly robbed his breath at how much like... How much like Romanoff she looked. A younger Romanoff.

“You should go,” Bucky agreed, despite himself while Deadpool stammered.

“Yeah! Thank you!” Deadpool nodded to him.

“This is not a place for a girl,” Bucky continued, knowing even while he said it what her reply would be.

“Fuck you,” she said. “I'm not leaving until he tells me what he's been up to!”

“That your girlfriend, Wade?” A heavily tattooed man called and the others at his table laughed.

“No, asshole! She's... a cousin.” He turned to glare back at her. “Look. I will meet you back at the tower. Actually, no I'm gonna take you back there now-”

“I'm not-”

“I will tell you what I've heard,” he hissed. “But I need you to get your ass somewhere safer right now before one of these guys decides to try to pick you up.”

“I'm not scared.”

“Isn't your hand still broken? Jesus, kid-”

“My finger is broken. My hand is fine.”

That caught Bucky's attention. He had to fight a smile when she cursed at him. He glanced at her injured hand. He'd noticed one of her sleeves looked a little bulky and he could see the splint and bandages now. He should have noticed it earlier – he chided himself.

“Scuse me,” he said. Deadpool looked at him. “I meant to ask... you know of any uh... jobs around here?” he gestured to the crowd. He wasn't really familiar with mercenaries, having never been in the trade himself, but he had encountered a number of them over the years. He wasn't sure what the jargon was these days but Deadpool surely caught his meaning because his eyes narrowed.

“Fuck if I know. You can ask around. Weas might know,” he jerked a thumb at the counter. “But he'll just refer you to somebody else. He doesn't like to get involved. If you'll excuse me...” he turned to stand, nearly chest to chest with the girl who glared up at him. She had a glare that could melt iron and even Deadpool seemed to wilt under it.

“Look, kid. I'm gonna walk you back to the tower. You're gonna cooperate. And then I'll tell you what I've heard as soon as we're back. You're also not gonna tell Romanoff that you were here.”

The girl frowned. “Why not?”

Bucky nodded to them, waving a hand as he dismissed himself. He went to chat with the proprietor who indeed pointed him to someone else, then feigned interest in work. He even received a card from one group, with phone numbers on it, nodding to them in thanks before watching the man in red and the girl leave. 

 

* * *

 

He followed, from a distance, slowing as they got closer to the tower. He needed to be careful not to get picked up by any of the cameras and there were liable to be a lot of them near the tower...

“Well well well,” a voice mused above him.

Shit.

He should have known she wouldn't let the girl leave the tower unmonitored. If the girl was under her protection...

He was on the sidewalk near the mouth of an alley glancing up toward the direction her voice had come from. Something moved up on a fire escape, in the shadows. He nearly felt a pang at seeing her oddly familiar face appear in a slant of light from a streetlamp. She was older now, but still lovely.

“If it isn't my favorite ghost,” Natasha Romanoff mused, her lips curling at one corner.

 


End file.
